Ready or Not
by Sue Shay
Summary: THIS STORY IS IN TEMPORARY HIATUS. See ya in October! "Tragedy and sorrow force two resistant lovers to appreciate what is truly important in life and they discover that what's important is each other." -OR - "Lisbon felt prepared for everything until Death claims members of her family. And dammit! How much help was Jane gonna be?" Post-RJ. Rated T for adult situations/language.
1. C1 - Shock!

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thanks for the beta read, Cumberland River Relic. Big help!_**

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**_Chapter 1_**

Patrick Jane bobbed his teabag an extra two dunks and discarded it in the trash. He gave the brew a quick stir before setting the spoon in the sink and deeply inhaling the rich aroma.

Perfection. His favorite Chinese oolong tea steeped to a delightful richness with just the right amount of milk. Was it possible to make love to a beverage? If so, it was a romance he indulged in with each delicious cup.

He blew on it softly and started toward his couch. Then he stopped and smiled to himself. The excellence of his cuppa put him in a mood to share, so he made a second cup and carried it to Lisbon's office. As usual he entered without knocking. It appeared empty.

The first thing he noticed was that her chair was pushed back against the file cabinet behind her desk. The phone was off the hook with the cord disappearing behind the desk.

_Hiding under her desk to take a call?_ He smirked to himself. Perhaps she anticipated his barging in. But of course it wouldn't be difficult to guess he'd do so, since it was his habit.

A scritchy noise came, like someone shouting over an electronic device. Jane looked down and saw her black boot sticking out to the side of the desk. He set the tea down and rushed forward.

"Lisbon!"

She lay across her attaché case, collapsed against the wall, her eyes fluttering, her skin deathly pale. More noise came from the phone, but Jane ignored it as he yelled for help and then picked her up.

_God, she's so light! Does this woman ever eat anything?_ Maybe she fainted from hunger.

Agents Harry Jefferson and Eliza Smithfield from Major Crimes entered just as he placed Lisbon on the sofa.

"She was collapsed on the floor," he said, cutting off their questions. "Call for an ambulance."

_Airway-breathing-circulation…_

Her steady breathing was full. He put his fingers to her pulse which was strong but racing. Why was she unconscious? The phone call?

"Lisbon," he said, slapping her cheek lightly.

She twitched and then winced, trying to move away from his hand.

Jane glanced at Eliza who stood nearby, ready to help as directed. Harry must have gone to lead the ambulance to the Special Crimes Unit. Jane gestured with his head.

"The phone was off the hook when I found her. See if the person is still there."

Lisbon groaned so he looked at her again.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah…I… think… Where am…"

Then her face twisted with horror and she covered her face, beginning to sob. He dropped to one knee and brushed the hair back from her face before offering his handkerchief.

"Lisbon? What's wrong, my dear?"

Behind him, Eliza gasped and muttered "Oh dear Lord…" under her breath before thanking the person on the phone and advising the caller that there was a friend nearby to help. Jane turned to Eliza as she hurried to him.

"Her brother died in a horrible car accident last night," she whispered. "There were two young people in the car with him who also died: Jared and Annabeth Vogelstein."

Patrick Jane fought the nausea in his stomach and turned back to Lisbon, drawing her fully in his arms. She sobbed out of control as he rocked her.

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**To be continued...**


	2. C2 - Prep

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thanks, Cumberland River Relic, for your generosity with your time by spending it being a beta reader. I'm still looking for "The Disappearing Act" to continue! Neat story!_**

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**_Chapter 2_**

To Jane's great frustration, Lisbon refused to go with the ambulance, insisting that a lack of breakfast and an excess of coffee caused her to become lightheaded.

She asked Jane to leave her alone for a few minutes, so he closed the blinds in her office and left, closing the door behind him. When he entered the bullpen, the team gathered around him, large questions on their solemn faces.

"Listen, she knows you want to help her and she's grateful. But you all appreciate that she's a private person and stubborn as… well, stubborn as a boss."

"But what happened?" Van Pelt demanded.

"Tommy was driving from Milwaukee to Chicago late yesterday afternoon. A car traveling in the opposite direction jumped the median and hit his sedan head on, killing him instantly. They think the driver was drunk. Tommy had two passengers in the vehicle who also died. Lisbon said they were Annie and her new husband Jared—"

"'Husband'?" Van Pelt exclaimed.

Jane placed his hand on her arm to quiet her, glancing towards Lisbon's office. "Yes," he said softly. "It's easy to still think of young Annie as that precocious teenager who hung out here a few years ago, but by my math, she's nineteen now. Maybe even twenty."

"Or would be," Cho said.

Rigsby and Van Pelt both frowned at the correction, but Jane ignore it.

"Lisbon just told me Annie married Jared Vogelstein in a civil ceremony in January and they had been living with Tommy since."

Van Pelt gave a little gasp. Jane nodded as he added, "Yes, her cancelled vacation because of the triple homicide in Moro Bluffs State Park."

"How awful! She hadn't been home to Chicago since… since…"

"Christmas, three years ago," Cho said. Softly he added, "Poor boss."

"That's not the worst of it," Jane said. "Annie and Jared had a four-month-old baby. There was no mention of the child involved in the accident so it's probable that he's an orphan now."

Pity flooded the faces of the team. Van Pelt sniffled, forcing her to break for her desk to grab a tissue.

"No wonder she fainted," Rigsby said.

It turned Van Pelt's sniffling into flowing tears. Rigsby gaped for a moment before looking to Jane and Cho helplessly. Cho also looked at Jane who shrugged before gesturing for Rigsby to hold her. When he did, Jane patted Grace on the back consolingly.

"Let's do what we can to help Lisbon get through this," Jane said.

Cho sighed deeply and dropped his hands off his hips. "I'll contact Bertram and let him know that Lisbon is going to be gone for her brother and her niece's funerals. Rigsby, please let the other units know that we're going to be shorthanded for a while."

Rigsby gave Van Pelt a strong hug but then pushed her off his chest, staring into her face with concern. She nodded and straightened her back as she wiped at her cheeks.

Jane tried to distract her. "Grace? Could you do me a very big favor? Could you make airline reservations for Lisbon and me to Chicago, next flight out sometime this afternoon. Business class, please. I hate coach. And here's my credit card."

"You and the boss?" Rigsby asked. The team stared in stunned silence.

Jane shrugged, gesturing with his hands. "Of course! Someone has to stay here to run the unit and fight crime. But she's going to need a friend along to support her, and since I can't arrest more than a cough, her traveling companion needs to be me while you all stay here and carry on. Make her look good, you know?"

Rigsby nodded reluctantly at his logic as Van Pelt pulled away to return to her desk with the card, dabbing tears and sniffling as a determined expression settled on her face. Jane headed toward his couch as Cho went to his own desk but not before quipping, "Personally I think she has troubles enough without having to worry about the kind of trouble you can cause."

Jane paused mid-step but then turned towards the kitchenette. "I promise I'll be nothing more than her trusted chauffeur. Oh, that reminds me. Grace, could you rent a car too? Perhaps an SUV or a crossover vehicle. Put it all on the card. This time of year, there could be snow in Chicago and I really don't want to risk getting stuck because of the weather.

"Right now, I'd better go make her another cup of tea. She's going to need it."

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_**To be continued...**_


	3. C3 - Family

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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_**Thank you, Cumberland River Relic. You're an excellent beta and critique partner.**_

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**_Chapter 3_**

Lisbon struggled to retain control of her emotions. She'd handled worse than this, right? Hell, in her past she'd spent ten minutes preserving the life of her longtime friend Sam Bosco, continuing CPR until the paramedics arrived. Afterwards she stood in the bathroom, rinsing her blouse of his blood without shedding a single tear. God! It wasn't like she was in the car with Tommy and Annie, watching their lives slip away like she did with Sam.

The thought broke down her self-control and she started crying again, wiping franticly with the handkerchief Jane gave her. God, how she wished it had been _her_ instead of Tommy and Annie. Then Baby Daniel would still have his mommy.

_And_ his daddy who Lisbon had never met. That was a stab to her heart as well. The guilt about missing the wedding made her send twice as big a gift as she normally would have. Annie's love when she talked about her groom practically oozed through the phone, and Tommy had nothing but nice things to say about his new son-in-law. Lisbon looked forward to meeting Jared and told herself it would happen when the baby was born.

But that was not to be either. When Annie gave birth, Lisbon and her team were still cleaning up the whole Red John fiasco. She had intended to spend a long weekend in Chicago, but the mess left from having to kill Red John instead of taking him alive put a kibosh on her plans again. And RJ minions scattering like the cockroaches they were? The manpower reports were still giving her long hours and eye-strain headaches, although it would have been a lot worse without Jane's assistance. He may have taken on the short-term attitude of a cornered porcupine immediately after Lisbon shot Red John instead of letting Jane kill him, but when it came to tracking down the higher-ranking lieutenants in that Cult of Death, Jane went from porcupine to mongoose, pulling the snakes backwards out of their damned holes. There were one or two left, but Jane felt they were so deep in hiding, they might as well have gone to Antarctica.

Things had calmed down enough that Lisbon planned to visit over Thanksgiving, but she and her team were required to work the holiday, so she made tentative plans to go to Chicago over Christmas. Baby Daniel would be five months old by then, a much more fun age for a maiden aunt with no experience with infants.

She pulled out her phone and looked at the image Annie had sent her. Her niece looked so happy as she snuggled the little round face up to her cheek. Tears flooded her face twice as much and she snapped the phone shut again, resisting the urge to throw it across her office.

God, how could this catastrophe happen? Why lose her family now? She was finally satisfied with life! The world felt like a safer place because that evil bastard was gone. Jane had lost that weird, obsessive gleam in his eyes. They'd even begun to explore dating a little bit, going to concerts in the park together and sharing a drink or two before going their separate ways for the night. This was Jane, after all. Courtship would run in a slightly 'old school' manner before he did something to twist things into a Luis Buñuel film festival. She had been ready for that twist from the second date, knowing that it wouldn't be a case of the other shoe dropping but instead it would probably be the entire shoe store. But it never came, even after two months. She actually felt herself start to relax about it all. A normal date! It had been so long.

On the other hand, her team dealt with 'normal' murderers now, and it was wreaking havoc with morale. Jane said they were losing their 'esprit de corps'. Without the underlying challenge they'd all been dealing with for the last ten-almost-eleven years, they were feeling restless. Yet, whenever Senior Agent in Charge positions opened and she fired off letters of recommendations, it appeared none of her team seemed interested in moving on and moving up.

That made her sad too. They were all really good cops and exceptional people. They deserved promotions in reward for their dedication to catching Red John. Why wouldn't they selfishly demonstrate normal law enforcement officer ambition?

She put her head on her desk and sighed heavily. What was she going to do?

The door opened, and she automatically lifted her head.

"Lisbon?"

"Yes, Jane?" She looked at him, blinking to clear her vision. His face went a little pale as he looked back at her.

"Cho is contacting Bertram about your trip to Chicago," he said, setting a cup on her desk.

_Damn it! Bertram!_ She'd forgotten she'd need to contact him as well as all the CBI unit managers to let them know what was going on.

The emotional pressure of the thought squeezed two more tears from her eyes. Damn it! Why was she letting this get to her?

Jane moved closer, pulling out another handkerchief. She supposed he carried more than one for use with magic trick or something along those lines. Waving the offering away, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a box of tissues.

"Rigsby is passing the word that Serious Crimes will be looking for help while you're gone. Maybe they will send an agent to help or just intercept some of the more rigorous cases."

Lisbon glanced at the time on her phone. Geez! It had only been twenty minutes since she'd gotten the news. "Here's your hat; what's your hurry?" Did they really want her out of there?

"They feel helpless," Jane said softly. "They're trying to assist and reassure you that it's okay to go."

_Damned mentalist! So damned right all the time!_

Although his word _did_ make her feel better at first. Then she felt guilty about assuming the worst about her team, even though she knew her heightened anxiety was the reason she entertained thoughts unworthy of her.

"Tell you what. I'll go with you to your apartment so you can get a bag together and then I'll drive you to the airport. Van Pelt got you a non-stop flight from Sac International to O'Hare—"

"No, to Midway," she corrected firmly. "My people are Southsiders. Midway would be easier."

Jane looked a bit uncomfortable, something she wasn't accustomed to. It had a profound effect on her. Hadn't she just chastised herself for being bitchy?

"O'Hare is fine," she conceded immediately. "Whatever. I'm grateful for her help. I'll just find some way to get to Bridgeport from there. It'll be a bit of a cab ride, but maybe someone can come get me instead."

"Grace is getting you a rental, too. I know how these family gathering things work; you're better off being independent and having your own wheels."

Lisbon raised a brow and stared at him a moment. How would he know how they work? He was an only child and both his parents were dead.

However, she couldn't fault his thinking, considering he was about as independent as she was. If Jane was anything, he was an expert at escaping from places he didn't want to be. Besides, something warned her that seeing her two still-feuding brothers was not going to be smooth. Having the ability to get away from the family scene once in a while was a strict necessity.

"Fine. Some kind of rent-a-wreck car should be affordable. Van Pelt knows how cheap I am."

"Oh, no doubt left to her own devices, she'd get just the right vehicle." He gestured, making a circle over her desktop. "Listen, I made you another tea. Drink it while you clear your desk. I have to go straighten some stuff up in my Aerie, so text me when you're ready to leave. I'll come right down."

She stared a moment even after his hurried disappearance through the door. Yes, she just lost her brother and his family, but at least she still had her CBI family. There was a lot of comfort in the thought, something to focus on despite the swirling madness around her at the moment. She'd do her best to use it to hold on.

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_**To be continued**_


	4. C4 - Tumult

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thanks so much, Cumberland River Relic. Beta-reading is such a huge favor to grant a fellow writer!_**

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**_Chapter 4_**

Jane appeared at her door before she was quite ready. She finished writing the sticky note and placed it onto a pile of papers before looking at him.

"Here's your ticket info and boarding pass," he said cheerfully, folding a paper in thirds and slipping it into her attaché case. "Are you ready to go?"

There was something strange about his stance, like he was covering up being winded. In fact there was a suspicious sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

"Yeah, I should be. I updated Cho about what's pending on my docket. He has a key to my office if they need to get in here for anything."

He took her case off the desk and held open the door for her. "Then perhaps we should go. The flight to Chicago leaves in just under four hours."

"Were you rushing?" she asked. "You looked…pressed."

"I don't want to make you late. Security at the airport is bad this time of year."

It was a fair reminder that she needed to get moving. After waving him out the door and locking it behind them, she thanked the team for their help and accepted their condolences. She promised to update them with the details of the funeral and where she would be staying while in Chicago. Jane made impatient observations about how little time they had, and very soon they were driving both their cars to Lisbon's apartment. While Lisbon added items to her CBI overnight ready-bag, Jane disposed of the perishables in her fridge and then used her computer to put a hold on her mail delivery. Once she was packed, she met him at her front door.

"Uh…slight change in plans," Jane said awkwardly. "We're taking a cab to the airport. It will be easier than taking my car. Besides I don't want to leave mine there."

"Let's take mine, then."

"No, it's cheaper to just take a cab than pay parking. Besides, I already called. It'll be here in a minute."

Maybe it was the surreal distraction of losing her brother or maybe she'd just gotten to know him, but for just a moment to her, Jane actually looked slightly nervous.

"What's going on?" she asked. "You've got that look."

His well-practiced 'innocence' look came up and she knew there was no changing speed when in that gear of the Jane Transmission.

"Nothing, I'm sure. Maybe I'm sad that you're going to Chicago."

"It's only a week, Patrick."

"A week is a week."

He picked up her garment bag and opened the door for her with an exaggerated bow.

"After you, madame."

She picked up her carry-on and they exited. After she locked the deadbolt, they went downstairs and waited, leaning against Jane's car.

"So it looks like the weather between here and Chicago is mostly good, if the weather service website is to be believed. Except for a little storm over the Dakotas region, the flight should be pretty smooth. Maybe a little turbulence but not much."

"Good."

"But you've never been a nervous flyer, have you?"

"No, generally not. I trust pilots."

He opened his mouth as if to argue but then stopped. "Well, this will be a cruise for you." He shifted onto his feet and brought his keys out of his pocket. "Looks like the cab is here already."

"Oh. So you're not going with me to the airport after all? That makes sense."

"Of course I'm going with you," he said.

"But Patrick…"

"You know how I love to people watch. It's a perfect venue for me."

A smirk spread across her lips and she shook her head. "Don't start any fights or make the wrong kind of joke, okay? The Feds play kinda rough sometimes."

"Oh believe me, I won't go messing with _them_ anymore," he said, rolling his eyes melodramatically, making her chuckle.

The yellow sedan stopped in front of them and the driver popped the trunk. After Lisbon put her bag in, she climbed into the back seat, settling her bag next to her. To her surprise, she heard the trunk of Jane's Citroën slam followed by a thump from the back of the cab. She looked up just as Jane sat next to her. The cab sped away from her apartment complex and jumped on the highway.

"So… you wanna neck on the way to the airport?" Jane asked, grinning.

Her face grew hot. "No, you bad boy," she said, fighting the smile on her face.

He chuckled and took her hand. "Okay, we'll neck when you're back in Sacramento."

She had to laugh at his ludicrous behavior, although she wondered where it came from. Yes, they'd dated and even kissed, but somehow it never got …randy. Frankly she wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Then again, what was _she_ waiting for?

If she was honest with herself, she was waiting for it not to feel odd. She and Jane were friends for so long; sometimes it felt a little like she was partying with an older brother, rather than being on a date with one of the sexiest men she'd ever met. Were they forever destined to be just friends?

Well, if only friends it was, at least she had the best one out there.

"I don't suppose you remembered a winter coat." His words cut through her musing.

Crap. No, she hadn't. Well…maybe…there was one of Annie's she could use.

The thought choked her with guilt, shame and loss. God, the girl hadn't been dead twenty-four hours and Teresa was already going through her stuff!

Patrick wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to his chest despite the tension stiffening her body and making her resistant. He warmed her with his tender affection as his cheek rested against her head and he murmured soothing noises. It helped her manage to hold her tears in check.

"Teresa…" he said hesitantly. "I think I need to make it clear to you…because I've hedged around it. I'm flying to Chicago to give you a hand. You need to have a friend along right now."

"What?" she exclaimed, pulling away from him and crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at him.

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm going to attend Tommy and Annie's funeral with you."

Oh, that dickhead! She pulled further apart, turning away. Damn it! How presumptuous! Couldn't he be honest with her once in his damned life? No wonder he wasn't ideal romance material. What a jerk! Why did he always treat her like she was a moron? Like a know-nothing?

The taxi slowed as they exited Interstate 5 at the airport. She glared at the scenery going past, not saying a word. The driver asked what terminal and Jane directed him to the correct airline.

Despite wanting to smack him and rage at him, she heard his words run through her head again and she realized he was right.

She needed a friend.

She hadn't prepared properly for a trip to Chicago.

She hadn't brought a coat to wear in a region that frequently gets snow in November.

She had no idea what flight Grace had booked, or even what freaking airline she was on!

At the moment, she really _was_ a moron and a know-nothing. Plus an ungrateful bitch!

As he handed the driver a fifty, she started to protest only to realize she'd left without much cash.

_Shit. When he's right, he's really right. _

"Thank you, Patrick," she whispered. "I'll pay you back."

"Sure," he said. "But let's go. We still need to get through security and it's the week before Thanksgiving. We're cutting it close for catching the flight."

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_**To be continued...**_


	5. C5 - Fight or Flight?

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thanks again to CRR for the helpful beta read!_**

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**_Chapter 5_**

As much as she treasured her self-sufficiency and independence, it was a godsend having Jane leading her from checking their bags, through security and then to the gate.

She hated not thinking for herself, but every time she tried, the thoughts overwhelmed and confused her.

Tommy was _dead_, for God's sake! _Annie_ was dead. How could this happen? Why did this happen? _She_ was the one with the dangerous life. She was the one who knew that the bad guys could get a bullet to her, or in the case of Red John, it could have been a deadly slice with a bloody linoleum cutter.

Instead it was another damned drunk driver, as had claimed the life of her mother. How many lives were destroyed by alcohol? Her mother, her father, her little brother and his daughter.

And now…Tommy's grandson left alone in the world. Why? _Why?_

Something touched her arm. When she focused, she found Jane's hand holding another handkerchief.

"Boy, I'm causing you lots of laundry," she joked lamely, not meeting his eye as she took it. Strangely enough, just the act of taking it reined in and absorbed the tears.

"Meh. It gives me a chance to wash my only pair of underwear too."

She felt her face twist as she finally looked at him. He had a silly grin on his face.

"You are so childish sometimes," she said, but she couldn't help smiling.

"Yes, and I read '_Captain Underpants_' too. My _favorite_ is the one about the Purple Potty People."

Again she laughed. This man, who could recite all of Shakespeare's sonnets plus each and every one of Macbeth's lines from rote, was familiar with a series of kids' books?

He looked across the aisle at the row of seats opposite them. "Do you have a favorite book?" he asked.

There was a brown-haired child, about seven-years-old, seated there, staring with huge hazel eyes, holding a stuffed animal like it was a life-preserver. Lisbon felt sorry for him, instantly reading the anxiety that she hadn't seen before, feeling too absorbed by her own issues. The boy looked at his mother for reassurance, but she had earbuds in, watching something on her tablet and paying him no mind. Finally the kid lifted a book from alongside him, _Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People._

"Oh," Jane said casually. "That's a good read. You'll like the ending."

"I read it already," the boy said, barely above a whisper. "I read them all."

"A thrilling series. Reading is a good thing. I love to read. Having a good book nearby is like having a friend. Which is your favorite?"

The kid looked off into space to his right, his face relaxing a little as he thought about the question. Lisbon could see the exact moment he'd decided his answer; the tension flowed right out of the boy's body.

"Probably _Captain Underpants and the_ _Big, Bad Battle of the Bionic Booger Boy."_

"That's a good one," Jane said, nodding in agreement.

"What's yours?"

"Oh…I confess that my favorite book of all time was a book on magic tricks. I learned a lot from it."

"Really? You do magic?"

"Sure, I do some. Here, Lisbon. Gimme a coin?"

Now, how did she know that was coming? She dug through her bag and found her coin purse, handing him a quarter.

"Watch carefully," Jane warned lightly.

Whatever had been frightening the boy was a million miles from his mind now. That much was evident to Lisbon. As Jane made the coin appear and disappear, the kid's whole body kinesics changed out of his fight-or-flight stance.

"You don't need to be afraid to fly," Jane said softly, as the coin flashed in the sunlight pouring through the terminal window every time he made it reappear. "Flying is really very easy. The pilots have a lot of practice, and thousands of people fly every day. It can be a lot of fun. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Lisbon tore her eyes off the coin, recognizing that it was mesmerizing her. She looked at the kid's mom who, like her son, was staring at the coin as she gently plucked out her earbuds.

"If you start to feel afraid of flying, all you need to do is pretend it's a page in your book, just all written down. You look at it, know what it is and then turn the page. It will be gone. The new page will be a happy story with your favorite hero saving the day. Just turn the page on the bad stuff and it will vanish."

Then the coin vanished and Jane put his hand down. He snapped his fingers loudly. "Darn it, Lisbon, I'll feel better if I have some gum to chew during the flight."

The mother and son blinked at him before looking at each other. Jane stood and patted Lisbon on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. I need to run to the convenience store."

"Uhm… get me some gum too, would you?"

He placed a soft kiss on her head and departed. Lisbon looked at the confused pair opposite her and gave them a tight smile. Both smiled back and then at each other. Yes, they were more relaxed. Mom was probably passing on her fear of flying to her son. Thank goodness for Jane's intervention. It would make life easier for everyone on the plane.

Or at the very least, for the book-reading boy.

She lowered her face and stared at her clasped hands. Yes, thank goodness for Jane. At the moment he was the man who knew exactly what to do to make everything all right.

* * *

**_To be continue…_**


	6. C6 - History

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Once again, Cumberland River Relic served as beta reader. Thanks so much, CRR!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 6_**

Ten minutes later she was taking it all back. The entire plane had been loaded and there was no sign of him returning with gum. She brought their carry-on bags forward and started to explain that her traveling companion was missing when there was a ruckus behind her.

"Here I am! Here I am! Don't close the plane without me!"

She spun around just as he came galloping up, waving his boarding pass in his hand.

"Honest to God, Jane –"

"Sorry, my dear," he panted, handing his boarding pass to the attendant. "There was this amazing magazine at the store. I just couldn't put it down."

"A magazine? Really, Jane?" Sometimes the man was infuriating! "Why didn't you just buy it?"

"I did, I did." He thanked the attendant and gestured toward the jet bridge before picking up the carry-on bags. "Shall we go?"

They earned glares from the flight crew and the first class passengers, causing Lisbon to avoid making eye contact as she passed through business class on her way to coach.

"Psst, Teresa!" Jane called behind her.

She stopped and looked back. He smiled and gestured towards two empty seats. She gawked a moment.

"Aren't we in…?" She looked at her ticket for the first time as she started toward him. Then she groaned. Dammit. Why hadn't she given Van Pelt some kind of instruction? This trip was costing her a fortune!

"Relax, Teresa, the tickets are on me for this trip. Gimme that bag."

He stowed their carry-ons and settled next to her in the seat.

"You're not paying for my ticket, Jane. I'll pay you back when this is all over."

"I had to get the tickets. You know I hate flying in coach, and I couldn't afford two tickets in first class."

"Then you should have stayed home and let me do this by myself."

"Oh, relax and enjoy a little comfort in your life, Lisbon." He reached into his inside suit coat pocket. "And if you'd rather not relax, look at this. It will take your mind off—"

The flight attendant stepped up and asked them to buckle their seatbelts. Jane smiled charmingly and did. Lisbon was a little slower to do so, tucking her bag under the seat in front of her before fastening her crash restraint.

"So what did you find so distracting that you nearly gave me a heart attack by almost missing the flight?"

"You are nearly having a heart attack because you're afraid of flying, Lisbon."

"What? I am not."

"You are. Every time we have to fly for work, you always look into what it would take to drive instead."

"That's because I have to budget for shipping equipment, Jane. The airfare to bring our gear takes a chunk out of my department travel allowances. It's usually better to drive."

"Pshaw…"

"No, you don't have to worry about that, do you, _consultant_?"

"No, I don't. Because I don't need a bunch of gizmos to get what I need from a crime scene."

"Oh, 'pshaw' back at you. 'You don't need evidence' is what you mean. Well, my job requires it."

"The truth is you're a control freak enough that you'd prefer to drive."

"Control freak, eh? Thus the pot calls the kettle."

"Yes, I do. But at least I'll admit why I prefer to drive. It gives me a chance to clear my mind of other concerns."

"Please," she said, rolling her eyes. "You don't like flying either, you big liar."

"I admit I'm not an enthusiastic flyer because it's out of my direct control."

"So you're not comfortable when I insist on driving all the time?"

"I'm quite comfortable because I know you and trust you. If—"

The plane began to vibrate and shudder. Lisbon grabbed Jane's hand, surprised that the jet was already taking off. Bickering with him, she hadn't noticed that they'd even left the gate.

She looked at him as he gave her a knowing smile.

"Is that why you always sit next to Grace? Because she won't tattle?"

Despite the dread that settled in her stomach, Lisbon released her death grip and stared straight ahead. She expected more commentary from him, and when it didn't come, she glanced over. His eyes were closed and his head was back against the seat. He swallowed hard, dealing with his own lack of control issues as best as he could.

_Doing what he has to do. Just like always._

She put her head back and closed her eyes too, just as the pressure of the plane's thrust eased off. It seemed easiest to stay that way until they reached cruising altitude and speed.

"Lisbon, would you mind closing the—?" he started to ask.

She had the window shade down before he even finished.

"Thank you," he said, patting her hand. "Now look at this."

From inside his coat, he brought out a magazine, _Truly Criminal, Special Double Issue_. The cover was the hokey artwork of the 1950s illustration rather than the photography of a modern publication. The date under the magazine title listed the current month and year.

It depicted a woman screaming… and a red smiley face on the surface behind her.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	7. C7 - Understanding

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_FanFiction didn't send out notices to all the followers that Chapter 6 posted, so I hope you have a chance to read it before you read this chapter._**

* * *

**_Thanks for the support, Beta Reader CRR. Your help with those two rough spots was indispensable!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 7_**

He watched her face transform from the revulsion of seeing the woman and the obscene smiley face that had been so significant for ten years of their lives, to the amusement of reading the title of the magazine.

"Okay, this is a joke, right? I used to read this crappy magazine when I was a kid, whenever I could sneak one out of my uncle's bathroom. Boy, did I learn a lot."

"Really?" That surprised him. Not that she read crime stories as a kid, but that it wasn't Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed. "When I went to college and then the Academy? I learned how wrong these magazines had it. Police work is so rarely like these things."

"Well, I concur. I thought there would be a lot more car chases for one thing."

She flashed a grin at him and opened to the table of contents, then flipped to the first article. For the next ten minutes he listened to her mocking giggles and disbelieving groans. Finally she turned the page and gasped lightly before suddenly closing the magazine.

"I thought it was a very good picture of you," he said, casually looking at his nails.

"What? You're crazy."

"Oh, come on. You looked fine. So what if your hair got a little messed up? Everyone understood it was a windy day."

"Yeah, and only a bald man like Bertram would chose to have a press conference outside in weather like that. I look like a manikin with its wig on backwards!"

"A short manikin."

She hit him sharply on his forearm.

"Ow!"

An expression of surprise crossed her face when he yelped in surprise. Usually he didn't react when she smacked him, but she'd never hit him quite that hard before. She put her hand on his arm and rubbed the strike place.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's a very bad habit. I need to stop that."

He put his hand on hers, then curled his fingers to clasp it warmly.

"And I need to stop teasing you like that. At least for the moment, when you've got so much on your mind."

She studied his eyes a moment before looking away. "No, it's been a good distraction, actually. Thank you."

"Just trying to help."

She nodded, not meeting his gaze but not drawing her hand away.

"So…" he began lightly. "Are you going to read the rest of the article so we find out how it ends?"

"We know how it ends," she said in snarking tones. "The SCU team worked their asses off for their boss Teresa Lisbon and then she got all the credit. Now they resent it."

Jane pursed his lips and stared at her, studying the knit in her brow, the pain in her eyes as she looked at the seat in front of her.

"Really, Teresa? Is that what you think?"

She glanced at him ever so briefly and then dropped her gaze to the magazine again.

"Yes…Patrick. That's what I think." She folded the publication and shoved it between her thigh and the armrest. "I-I know that what we all went through to get Red John and it shouldn't be a benefit to any of us… but… we're cops. You know? We did our jobs well; we should feel good about it. I-I have tried to help them get ahead in the CBI. Instead, something I've done keeps holding them back. Something about my leadership…"

It broke his heart to see her almost dissolve into tears again. _Her leadership_…?

For ten years, she has to deal with the worst serial killer in recent history. All the friends lost during that time, both physically because Red John had killed or socially because she simply didn't have time to be a friend. All the worry, the anxiety, and the sleepless nights. Her entire life dedicated to her job, as though the vengeance were hers personally. In some ways it was.

On top of that, she somehow managed to take care of everyone around her. And she made them care about each other, as though her excessive empathy were a kind of soul-infecting virus.

"Teresa…I am sorry you feel that way. Yes, they deserve as much credit as either of us, and if you were to read the rest of that magazine, you'd find that they get it."

The tears finally broke and he patted his pockets. No additional handkerchiefs. A choking laugh escaped her as she watched him. She dug out the last hankie he'd given her and wiped her cheeks.

"Teresa…listen to me. The reason Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt haven't taken those jobs that you put in commendations for is because they love working for you. They love your leadership and compassion. You're an honest and fair boss. Being on your team has brought job satisfaction that most CBI officers don't ever experience."

"They should be striving to further their careers, Jane. Cops are ambitious, and those three need to be at the heads of their own units, bringing new blood up through the system."

"They want to work for _you_, you know. No matter what."

"That's not a good argument Jane," she said, still sniffling and wiping her face. "All that says to me is that maybe…maybe I need to quit. I'm standing in their way."

God, where was this crazy talk coming from? He'd never seen Teresa draw such irrational conclusions. She was a proud and logical person. Obviously she was upset by the deaths in her family, but did she really feel like she was standing in the way of her friends? No, this isn't what it was all about.

"My dear…rather than step _sideways_ out of their way, why don't you consider stepping _up_ out of their way. Show a little ambition yourself. I suspect that what they're waiting on mostly is a march forward."

It sunk in immediately where the real responsibility for the standstill lay. He watched the realization wash over her.

"I know it's been only four months since we took that bastard down," he said, "but we had ten years of pain and uncertainty before that. It takes time to adjust, to get used to it all being over. Moving on is not going to be instant. At least Cho is dating again. Van Pelt and Rigsby are seriously considering their future together, both personally and professionally. You and I are…well… we're taking it slow… but it's been pleasant, hasn't it?"

Nearly imperceptibly, she gave a small nod.

"We're all moving on, but they want to be sure that you're okay, because the responsibility of leading that manhunt has been an overwhelming one. When you feel ready to move, you'll find them right behind you."

"And… and what about you?"

Indeed, what _about_ him? He still had no real idea. Despite his penchant for scheming methods and laying plans, he had never quite got his brain around the possibility that he would survive the hunt for Red John, let alone walk free. He'd resigned himself to having no future, only a past and a present.

And then Teresa shot Red John and Patrick was cut adrift.

Yes, he resented it at first, both that he hadn't killed in vengeance of the lives of his murdered wife and daughter, and the fact that solid ground beneath him suddenly turned into dangerously thin ice, creaking with each step. He resented that Teresa had saved his life with a bullet shot through their enemy's brain. It left him to face the daunting uncertainty of a life without purpose.

Then she needed help with rounding up the minions and suddenly he was able to grasp the reins to life. The purpose in his new life was helping her, the woman he'd grown so fond of over their ten years working together.

But that wasn't the same as having a plan. He couldn't answer her question with the truth because he didn't know what the truth was. Instead he offered a platitude.

"I'm right behind you too, my dear. It doesn't always seem that way, but it is always true."

Again she nodded but more definitely. Then she lifted her gaze to his, her long dark lashes wet with her tears.

"I know. It just seems like…like things should have been instantly better."

He watched her struggle to contain her emotions and wished there was more he could do. It wasn't usual behavior for him – public displays of affection – but right then she needed the reassurance of a human caress. He leaned forward and kissed her lips lightly.

"Things _are_ better, Teresa," he whispered. "At least, some things are. It doesn't seem that way, but it is true."

He took the magazine from alongside her thigh and placed it in the pouch in front of her.

"Perhaps you could try to take a snooze. I suspect you're not going to have many chances to recharge over the next few days."

With a resigned nod, she reclined the seatback and closed her eyes. When he took her hand in his, she smiled and squeezed it.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	8. C8 - Dealing

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_There were two chapters posted for which FF did not send email notification. I hope you got to read those before reading this chapter. :-)_**

* * *

**_Thank you Cumberland River Relic for beta-reading._**

* * *

**_Chapter 8_**

Lisbon woke to a gentle push on her shoulder. She lifted her head, squinting as she looked at the people and seats around her.

"Teresa…wake up. We're landing soon."

"Landing?" She sucked her lips and swallowed, trying to get the stale taste from her mouth. Her gaze fell on Jane's face. She relaxed.

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he said. Then he graced her with that playful half-smile of his. "Although you were beginning to snore so…"

"I do not snore!"

He grinned and lightly tapped her leg with the rolled-up magazine. "Do up your belt. I felt the descent begin a moment ago. Welcome to Illinois."

Her lap-belt was still fastened from earlier, but she tightened it a little as he did his. She smirked.

_Aren't we just the badass law enforcement? Both of us – nervous fliers, afraid of airplanes._

As the plane's flaps extended and lowered, sending a loud hum through the cabin, Patrick's hand sought Teresa's and took it lightly. He squeezed just as the thrust reversers began to roar, but his grip softened again immediately. Was he offering comfort or was he seeking it? She couldn't remember a moment when he expressed uneasiness about something personal, except maybe years before when he confessed that he'd been committed to a mental institution after finding his family slaughtered. His carnie upbringing created the habit of hiding all vulnerability, even something as common as a fear of flying.

Yes, this felt somewhat like he was taking reassurance rather than giving it. She was touched that he allowed her to sense it. She was even more touched to realize he sought it in her.

The moment the plane was at the jet bridge and passengers stirred, he jumped out of the seat and opened the overhead to pull down the bags. Then he blocked the aisle, allowing her to climb out of her seat before he took care of both bags. It was the fastest she'd ever been off the plane.

It was the same with getting the checked luggage and the rental car. He wasn't exactly rude or aggressive. More like… excessively assertive.

Not that it was a surprise he behaved in such a way. She'd watched him insult senators and even Governor Hallenbright to their faces. He held no fear in social situations. To him, he felt as well-armed with his words as she did with any of her Glocks. Being pushy was second nature to Jane, just as being charming was. She never quite understood how he got away with both, sometimes in the same sentence.

He twirled the car keys around his finger as they exited the auto rental office to pick up the car. She held out her hand.

"I'll drive, Jane."

"No, I paid for the rental. My name is on the paperwork. I'm driving."

"Listen, this is my hometown. It will be easier if you just let me get to –"

"Kennedy east into downtown, then to the Dan Ryan to, what – 31st? Easy peasy. Besides, I've been to Chicago a few times myself, Lisbon, and I have a photographic memory." He gestured behind them with his thumb. "Taking a look at the map at the car rental desk was a good refresher."

She opened her mouth to argue.

"Besides," he continued, "you need to call people and find out where we need to meet."

She closed her mouth and glared at him.

_Ooo, I hate when he's right._

* * *

It was a good thing Jane drove, actually. No one seemed to be answering their phones. Either that or they were turned off. Or as Jane suggested, it was a combination of those things plus everyone needed to charge them because of all the extra calling that happens during family emergencies. Then she called her box in the CBI voicemail system to see if anyone had left her directions or instructions. There was nothing but work related messages that she forwarded to Cho.

Not knowing what else to do, Lisbon called Cho and asked him to check her desk for messages. There was one that came to the main switchboard in the wee hours of the morning from the Lake County coroner's office but delivered a few moments after she and Jane had left. Lisbon had Cho text the number to her.

"I bet they want me to ID the bodies," she said, staring at the phone.

Jane glanced at her and pulled over to the shoulder of the expressway.

"Is there anything you want me to do for you?" he asked. His voice was gentle as was his expression. "You know I'm here if you need help with something."

"No, it's okay," she blurted. "I'm a big girl. I can handle this."

"Of course, Lisbon. And there's going to be a lot more asked of you this coming week or two. I was just offering to give you a hand."

She stared at the text a moment, the word _coroner_ seeming to glow in red letters even though it was no different than the rest of the characters. For a brief moment, she was tempted to give him the phone.

"No… no, I got this. You're already helping tremendously by being here."

"Happy to help, my dear."

"Thank you."

He patted her arm and settled back into his seat. She touched the phone screen, making it dial the number.

* * *

It was as she feared. No one answered the coroner's calls about two of the bodies. They needed a positive identification on Thomas Lisbon and Annabeth Vogelstein. Family had already claimed Jared Vogelstein.

The coroner's office knew nothing of a child. Lisbon didn't know whether to be relieved or even more worried.

Using the rental car's GPS, Jane drove to the address in Waukegan and accompanied Lisbon as she did her duty. She'd seen many dead bodies in her career and had learned to form a lump in her abdomen to hold herself together. It was there for her use when looking at Tommy and Annie although her hold on it seemed so tentative. She even found herself hushing the same internal voice she'd heard when she was thirteen, the one that had tried to convince her that her mother was merely asleep in the dusty-rose colored casket.

"May… may I have their effects, please?" Lisbon asked. How often had she said that to a coroner's office relating to bodies in their possession? It was part of the routine, something to do in an effort to bring justice to the dead. The 'stuff' was helpful in finding out more about the person.

However, when the ubiquitous manila envelopes were offered, she couldn't raise her hands to take them, just staring dumbly at them for several moments. As if watching a television, she viewed Jane thanking the clerk before taking the packages and tucking them under his arm.

"Sign the forms, Lisbon. We'll find a hotel and make arrangements as soon as we get in touch with the rest of your family."

Feeling numb, she nodded and picked up the pen, signing on the line.

* * *

She seemed to wake from a fog when she heard a car door open. They were in the dark lot outside Waukegan. Jane was holding the passenger door open for her, watching her face. For the first time since she sobbed in his arms, he was looking at her with pity.

"I'll be all right, Jane. Seriously."

He raised his hand as if to touch her but stopped and put both hands in his coat pockets.

"We need to get someplace warm and quiet. My California blood is too thin for this Midwestern November weather." Then he made an exaggerated shudder and rubbed his own arms.

_He just had to say that._ Now she felt the cold, realizing again that she hadn't prepared for Chicago. She climbed in and he closed the door for her before going around to the driver's seat.

"It's ten o'clock, my dear," he said, starting the vehicle and putting it into gear. "Neither of us has eaten all day and we're both pretty tired. I suggest—"

"We have to find the baby, Jane."

He froze a moment and then finished backing out of the parking spot.

"I can't get hold of anyone! Who has Daniel?"

"Teresa, calm d—"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Jane."

"Agent Lisbon, getting emotional isn't going to help the investigation, all right?"

God, she hated when he manipulated people for a good reason. Especially when he played _her_.

But at the same time, he was right. Yes, she needed to get a grip on things. On herself.

"I think we can assume that whoever was watching the baby yesterday isn't going to just—"

"Their cellphones," she murmured.

"Yes, I thought of that already. We'll check into a hotel, we'll order room service—"

"I'm not hungry."

"Order room service," he repeated, "and start looking through their phone records to see who they've called, particularly Annie."

"But, Patrick…"

"I need to eat. We both do. And I haven't had a cup of tea since we left Sacramento. All they had on the plane was Lipton." Again he shuddered.

"Jane, your refined tastes aside—"

"Lisbon, one step at a time. I'm sure the baby – 'Daniel', you said? – is fine. The baby is probably in the care of protective services, if he isn't already with Jared's family. Let's just take a moment to gather and regroup."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, Jane, you're right." She waved forward and stared out the window. Despite agreeing with Jane's completely logical reassurances, she still felt uneasy about Daniel's whereabouts.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	9. C9 - Waves

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks to CRR for beta-reading. I made it pretty easy for him this chapter; not many mistakes! haha!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 9_**

It made her caw in rage. He knew it would.

"Listen, Teresa, we'll just stay here one night."

"Patrick, it's the friggin' Park Hyatt!"

"It's just a hotel. I picked it because it's one I'm familiar with from my tour days."

"It's five hundred dollars a night. I can't friggin' afford that!"

"I'm paying. Don't argue."

Once again she graced him with the eye-roll before the doorman opened her car door. Then she climbed out and stood with her arms crossed while Patrick arranged for the valet parking and for the bell boy to take the luggage.

"Let's go inside. It's cold out here."

He placed his arm around her waist and hustled her inside. If she had been just a smidge less tired or distracted, she probably would have smacked him.

She didn't fidget as they checked in, and other than piping up to insist on two beds, she didn't say a word. When he told the desk clerk to have a hamburger and an order of eggs sent to the room, she only nodded when he looked to her for confirmation.

The room was beautiful, with refined décor and a gorgeous view overlooking the lights of downtown Chicago.

Patrick gently sat Teresa on one of the beds and set her two suitcases next to her before hanging her suit bag and his in the closet. He recognized that under normal circumstances he wouldn't be able to verbally direct her to do things, much less physically make her do them.

"I need the bags of effects," she said softly.

"Relax for another moment, Teresa. Ten more minutes."

"Gimme the bags, Patrick."

He turned from the closet where he was hanging his suit coat. There was no anger in her eyes, nor irritation, nor impatience. Just deep sadness. With a nod, he brought them to her.

"You take Annie's," he said, handing over a bag. "I'll see what I can find out from Tommy's."

The contents of Tommy's bag looked sad and lonely where he poured the belongings out on his bed. Cheap watch, wallet holding fourteen dollars, a couple of new credit cards, his bounty hunter license, insurance cards, five business cards for construction companies and a well-worn business card for an auto mechanic. There was also a cellphone that wouldn't turn on and a keyring with an old-style Chevy key, a house key and two padlock keys. On an inexpensive but sturdy chain hung a St. Christopher metal and a child's pot metal jewelry ring, the latter probably having been owned by Annie as a little girl.

The only pictures in the wallet were all of Annie holding a baby while being hovered over by a dark, olive-skinned handsome man. Both parents were smiling, pride beaming from their faces. Patrick recognized his favorite student despite her appearance as a grown woman. He liked the young man with first glance, staring into the dark eyes that glowed with determination and responsibility.

"Tommy wasn't doing so well as a bounty hunter," he said when he heard a deep sigh from Teresa. "He was supplementing their household income with subcontractor construction jobs and putting a lot of purchases on credit. The car needed a lot of repairs. The phone is dead; I suspect the battery is discharged."

"Annie's phone isn't working either." Teresa waved it at him.

"We'll try using our chargers. If they don't fit, I'll call the concierge desk. I'm sure the hotel will have chargers for these models."

Room service arrived just as Patrick was trying to plug in Tommy's phone. After the server set up the food at the table, Patrick tipped him and locked the door after. When he returned, Teresa was staring angrily at Annie's phone, pressing violently at the power button.

"Come on, come on," she growled. "It's the same phone as mine."

"Check the battery. Maybe it was dislodged during the crash."

She followed his suggestion and whooped happily. Pressing buttons, she cried out again. "There are a lot of calls to and from Susan Smithson over the last couple of days."

"Well… do her a favor and call from your phone, not Annie's. And before you do that, take a couple bites of your burger. You really need to eat something."

"No time, Jane."

_The stages of grief. Deepest lows and the highest highs with no time for basics._ He shook his head.

"Teresa, I'm serious. I will argue with you on this because I know exactly what you're going through. I made the exact mistakes you're making now. If you want to help the baby, you need to take care of yourself first."

"Mistakes! What do you mean mistakes, you… you jerk!?"

"After Angela and Charlotte…" He couldn't continue for a moment as visions danced before his eyes, awful images that he'd long suppressed even before Red John's death. _I knew I shouldn't have finished reading that damned magazine._ Taking a deep breath, he met Teresa's gaze and continued. "After I found them, I didn't take care of myself. It's part of the reason I ended up in the hospital."

She stared back a moment. The color that had flooded her face because of her frustration and anger was now draining away. Giving a little nod, she set the phone down.

"Five minutes won't make much difference," she said softly.

"Thank you."

He could tell she wasn't enjoying her meal. She only took four or five bites, every other one earning him a defiant glare from her. Well, he wasn't enjoying his very much either, even though the eggs were scrambled to perfection.

At least she took his advice, using her own phone to call. Patrick looked over the rest of Annie's belongings. Coin purse with twelve bucks and a business card for a Milwaukee realtor. Keychain with just a single housekey. Well, that explained the trip to Milwaukee and why Tommy was along.

"Hello, is this Susan Smithson?... Ms. Smithson, my name is Teresa Lisbon. I'm Annabeth Vogelstein's aunt—" She jerked the phone away and grimaced. Patrick could hear the shouting from where he stood. "Ms. Smithson!…SUSAN!"

The phone went quiet – or quieter, anyway – and Teresa put it to her ear again.

"Ms. Smithson, I'm Annie's aunt and—Wait, you know where he is? ...Oh thank God. Where are you?"

She looked around wildly for a moment. Patrick grabbed the paper and pen from the desk and handed it over. She flashed him a grateful smile, the sweetness making him feel warm inside. He wished he could bring the same to her.

"Okay, okay, 3134 West Carmen. Got it. We'll be there in twenty minutes!"

As she was writing, he put on his suit coat and retrieved his overcoat from his luggage.

"The baby's okay! This Smithson was babysitting for Annie and has been freaking out because she hadn't heard from Annie."

"Hmm," Patrick replied. Very strange sitter. Didn't ask what happened to the baby's mother? Didn't call the police? Still has the child?

No doubt Lisbon would eventually think of these things, but right now she was dashing towards the door.

"Lisbon! Wait! Stop!"

She cleared the door and started towards the elevator. He grunted and grabbed the room key, the valet claim, as well as Tommy's phone and key ring, just in case.

He caught up to her just as she entered the elevator. He placed his overcoat around her shoulders.

"You still don't have a coat. Use this until we can get one for you."

"Thanks," she said, fidgeting and stabbing the lobby button repeatedly.

With a gentle push, he moved her hand. "It's not going to go any faster."

"I can push them if I want, damn you."

He put up his hands and stepped back.

"Feel free to push, Teresa."

With a guilty start, she stared at him a moment and then nodded.

"Sorry, Patrick. Thank you for being so patient with me."

He shrugged and nodded in return but saying nothing.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	10. C10 - Found!

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks for being a sounding board on this chapter, Cumberland River Relic. Great beta reader!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 10_**

Again the GPS got them where they needed to be, a multi-flat apartment building in the Lakeview neighborhood. Teresa rang the bell and they were buzzed in immediately. Once she opened the door, Teresa ran up the stairs to Unit 303, forcing Jane to run after her. Jane managed to grab her hand before she pounded on the door.

"You are not Agent Lisbon," he said, trying to catch his breath from running two stories. "You are Aunt Reese talking to a very ditzy friend of Annie who will spook easily because it doesn't appear that she's very bright. Or confident."

Teresa nodded and lowered her hand. When the door opened, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face.

A slender, college-aged woman looked out from under disheveled black hair, brown eyes red from crying, hands trembling. She looked from Teresa to Patrick and then back.

"Are you Aunt Reesie? Come in, please."

Teresa quirked an eyebrow at Patrick before speaking to Susan Smithson. "Yes, I'm Teresa Lisbon, Annabeth's Aunt Reese. This is my friend Patrick Jane."

She barely acknowledged the introduction before turning away.

"Danny is in here."

They followed her into the small apartment, smelling heavy cigarette smoke in the air that almost masked the pungent aroma of used diapers.

"W-what happened to Annie? Why did she run off? She won't answer her phone. It just went to voicemail every time I called to find out what was going on."

As they cleared the short hallway, they entered a living/kitchenette area. In the middle of the room was a pile of baby things – diaper bag, folded portable crib, and a bag of toys. In front of it was a child carrier/car seat with a sleeping baby.

_Susan Smithson really wants out of the responsibility._ Patrick thought.

He didn't quite understand why. Daniel was beautiful, with fine dark hair, long soft lashes and full, pink cheeks. Patrick was instantly in love.

So was Teresa by appearances. She immediately fell to her knees in front of the child, mewing as she placed a gentle caress on Daniel's leg.

"He's adorable," she whispered. Tears flowed down her face as she examined the child.

"Teresa, I'm going to explain things to Ms. Smithson."

_Patrick Jane volunteering to participate in an emotionally charged moment? Him?_ Teresa didn't acknowledge it which told him how she was enthralled with Daniel.

He took the young woman by the elbow and led her back to the hallway, away from the front door towards what he assumed was a back of the apartment.

"Susan… we have very bad news. Annie and her husband were killed in a car crash last night on the way back to Chicago."

The horror crept into her eyes, looking at him and shaking her head.

"Listen, you need to call a friend who can stay with you. Aunt Reesie will take Daniel where he will be safe. Thank you for taking such good care of the boy. You're a good person for keeping him happy and clean until his aunt could come save him."

Tears finally slipped from her eyes which her trembling hands wiped uselessly. He turned her around and encouraged her to continue down the hall. They passed a small bathroom and entered a bedroom where he gently sat her on her bed. She was so pliable, he could have hypnotized her, but there was no need; the shocking news made posing her as easy as a kid's fashion doll.

"Slowly count to one hundred, taking a deep breath in between each number until you feel calm and relaxed. Then you can rest assured that Danny is in good hands. You will sleep very well tonight knowing that he's safe despite everything that's happened."

She swallowed and nodded.

_Well, it wasn't really hypnosis, right? More like...a really good suggestion._

"Lay back. Relax."

As she reclined, he turned to leave and then stopped.

"And give up smoking, Susan. Your sense of smell will come back, and your lungs will thank you for it."

Then he hurried to the living room where Teresa was smiling and cooing at the baby.

"Let's get going. We want Daniel out of here, and Susan wants us gone."

"What?"

"Daniel is now in protective custody. Let's get going." He picked up everything except the carrier and started for the door. "Let's go, Lisbon."

"What about Susan?"

He stopped and gestured around the room. "Look at this place. She's barely taking care of herself. The ashtrays are overflowing. The used diapers aren't even put into the garbage. Not having the baby is a great relief that she's looking forward to."

Teresa seemed to notice her surroundings for the first time and her button nose scrunched at the stench in the place.

"We need to get this baby out of here."

"My sentiments exactly."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	11. C11 - Caring

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for beta reading this chapter. Wonderful feedback._**

* * *

**_Chapter 11_**

Teresa fought against every fear she'd ever harbored, but it all seemed overwhelming. It was like Red John, Tommy Volker and every one of her first-year instructors had all joined her on the mats of her first unarmed combat class at the police academy.

_He's only an infant, for God's sake!_

Babies were not in her sphere of experience. Even as a teenaged baby-sitter, she avoided any job involving children less than three years old. True, she'd raised her brothers but they were all over the age of six when her mom died. And she was only six when the youngest Tommy was born. Thirty-seven years! She simply didn't know anything at all about babies.

Once again she felt like the damsel in distress, falling at Patrick's feet in need of rescue. He did everything: getting the equipment into the SUV, securing the infant car seat in the dark, plus allowing her to ride in back with Daniel. This was becoming a habit that she was not accustomed to. Usually it was Jane's ass she was hauling out of the fire. She would have become belligerent at the very idea of role reversal if it weren't for the fact that he was so damned helpful!

They were almost downtown when Patrick pulled into an all-night grocery store. As he went in for diapers, formula and other supplies, she stayed behind with the baby. God, that sleeping, angelic face was adorable. She couldn't say if Daniel looked more like Annie or Jared, but it didn't matter. She loved him all the way through her heart. She always would, no matter what happened.

Shrugging out of Patrick's overcoat, she reached between the front seats and turned the blower down on the heater. It was nearly unbearable in the vehicle. She knew all this talk about being cold was for her benefit, not his. Patrick was impervious to the cold. It was one of his best tricks. Biofeedback. Mind over matter. The mentalist plying his trade.

No, being hungry or tired or cold or cranky or whatever else he came up with just his way to maneuver her into allowing him to take care of her. Like she was helpless.

She took a deep breath and checked under the light blanket again at the cherub-cheeked face.

Actually she _was_ helpless. At the moment, all she seemed able to deal with was breathing, walking and occasionally grinning at the sight of a cute little infant. There were other things that needed her attention, although she couldn't quite think of them clearly, numerous as they were. She needed to take care of Tommy's apartment and call Tommy's employers and his landlord and his bank and his car and stop his mail and settle his bills and find out about life insurance and his absent brothers –

Cold air rushed forward as the back hatch opened. Teresa draped the receiving blanket over the carrier again and lowered her face, wiping at a light streak of moisture. Patrick finished loading his purchases and closed the panel as gently as possible. When he got in, he didn't speak. In fact, he didn't move, not even turning the heater back up.

Curiosity forced her to look. Toward her, he was holding a new handkerchief in a plastic wrapper. They both smiled as she took it.

"I also bought a box of tissues and several bars of chocolate."

"Dark chocolate?"

"Definitely."

He turned the heater up and put the car in drive, pulling through the parking space and out of the lot.

"Thank you, Patrick."

"It is my pleasure, Teresa. I'm here to help with anything you need. _Anything._"

She just nodded.

* * *

The bellhop stared when they returned to the hotel and unloaded grocery bags and baby equipment. Based on his enthusiastic, cheerful willingness to help, Teresa assumed it was the same guy, since Patrick had tipped well the first time, but it bothered her that she couldn't recall positively. She was a cop; she was supposed to be acutely aware of the people around her.

But damn it, she couldn't remember!

"He's not wearing the cap," Patrick said after he closed the door behind the young man. "The first time we saw him, there was a black knit cap under his peaked hat. It covered his red hair."

She looked up, pausing as she unstrapped the baby from the car seat "What?"

"You're trying to figure out what's different about the bellhop. I suspect he doesn't get utilized much at 11:30 on Thursday nights, so he left off the winter gear. Oh, and he is wearing his glasses."

As Patrick moved the small table and two chairs aside to set up the folding crib, he continued.

"Don't feel bad that you don't quite remember. At the moment, you're preoccupied with more important matters."

"I remembered him," she lied.

He chuckled as the locking mechanisms on the crib clicked into place. He tested them as he answered her. "Some time during this trip, I'll have to give you fibbing lessons."

Pressing her lips together, she chastised herself for attempting to deceive him. It was useless and she knew it.

She was about to tell him to go to hell, but what was the point? It would only amuse him further. Instead she sighed and gently lifted the baby from the carrier.

"You know what my dad used to say, Jane? He'd say 'that's why they don't send donkeys to school. Because nobody likes a smart ass.'"

"So what are you trying to say, Lisbon?"

She looked at him. He grinned back, that confident, self-satisfied, know-it-all smile that most of the time set her heart on fire, except for those times when she wanted to strangle him.

"I'm saying that we should put him in the crib and quiet down so he goes into deeper sleep."

Skirting around the crib, Patrick approached and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He lowered his face towards hers, causing her mind to race until she realized he was smelling the baby.

"He hasn't crapped in it, but I think we should put him in a fresh diaper," he said. "I bet Susan hadn't changed him in a timely manner."

Again her mind raced but for a different reason this time.

"Patrick, I… I don't know how to do that."

His gaze rose to hers and he straightened, staring wide-eyed. "Didn't you take care of your brothers?"

"They were older! The only time I cleaned up my brothers directly was to take a hose to them in the backyard. One time they were playing on a construction site. They came home covered with mud."

He smirked, making no attempts at hiding that he was laughing at her. "I guess there's something I'll be teaching you for sure this week." Then he winked. "Or were you planning on pulling up a YouTube video?"

He didn't wait for her response, instead crossing to the bath and grabbing a towel from the rack. After spreading it on what she automatically thought of as his bed, he waved her over, indicating for her to set Daniel on it. She watched carefully as he cleaned and changed the diaper in a matter of minutes. The babe seemed to wake a little but soft incoherent noises from Patrick lulled him back to sleep. Then Patrick placed the child in the crib and stared with satisfied silence.

"It's been a while," he whispered when Teresa stepped up alongside him. "And I never thought it would come again."

"You did that very well," she said, drawing close to his side. "Thank you for showing me."

It seemed perfectly natural when he placed his arms around her and drew her to his chest in a hug. Natural until she started to think about it. Had it been anyone else but Patrick Jane, who was renowned for his aversion to hugs unless they served some additional purpose, she probably wouldn't have thought twice about it. But when she became aware of pale scent of his faded aftershave, and the warmth of his hands running over her back, she was startled at how comforting it was.

"Things will look better after a good night's sleep," he said, releasing her. "Let's clear this stuff off your bed."

A shiver ran through her when he stepped back. An instant chill flooded her psyche as well as her body. His warmth was so real and comforting, forming a solid bridge over the dark emotional chasm growing at her feet. She was certain she would fall into had it not been for Patrick Jane. She also knew he had a reserve of strength to keep going through all the terrible hardship he'd suffered after the death of his wife. But when did he develop the ability to give it to someone else? Is it possible he had it all along and she was only now noticing?

It took a second for her to open her eyes. She watched him transfer her bags onto the luggage rack.

"Do you want to use the bathroom first? Or shall I?" he asked.

The quiver that came to her lip was bothersome. Adrenaline or fear or anger – whatever was causing it – coursed through her veins, making her feel insecure about what the world had in store for her. It was really beginning to worry her.

She wanted it gone and there was one place where she knew she could hide from it. With two steps, she was in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and setting her head on his chest again. He placed his arms around her, drawing her into his warmth. She felt…safe.

"Let it run its course, my dear," he whispered, resting his cheek against her head. "You're such a strong lady, the strongest person I've met. Ever. I truly admire you."

She mewed softly and snuggled closer. He squeezed her briefly.

"But you can't prevent what's coming. You can only rise above it until it plays out. I know you'll come back from the worst that ever happens. Right now it only _seems_ like the end of the world. We both know it isn't."

The tears lingering behind her eyes spilled onto her cheeks. He began to rock her gently, cooing like he had while lulling Daniel back to sleep. For just a brief moment, she felt all right with having someone else take care of things. His soothing voice cut through the ringing that seemed to fill her head. He stilled the hundreds of commands that were ordering her to take care of things, to make them right. Again his hands rubbed her lower back and shoulder blades, cradling her in his confident embrace until her weeping diminished. Exhaustion flooded into its place and she felt herself being helped to her bed.

"Here's your bag, Teresa. I'm going to use the bathroom while you change."

"Okay," she murmured.

"I'll be right back."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	12. C12 - Heat!

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

_Thanks again to Cumberland River Relic for taking time out to beta read when CRR could (and should) be writing instead! Thanks for your time, CRR!_

* * *

**_Chapter 12_**

He grabbed his Dopp kit and pajamas before entering the bathroom. Not knowing how deeply she might sink into a brown study, he left the door open an inch or so to listen for the baby.

_New parent syndrome. _He smiled at the memory of how nervous he and Angela had been after Charlotte was born. Neither one would leave her out of sight of at least one of them for her first six months!

Now he found himself reverting to nearly identical behavior, and it wasn't even his child. When he woke that morning, he hadn't known the baby even existed. Yet he felt very protective already, mainly because Daniel was Teresa's family.

Stripping down, he took a quick sponge bath and brushed his teeth before slipping on a white t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. He started to open the door when his gaze caught the dressing mirror that hung on the wall outside the bathroom and was angled to show the beds.

She was standing at the bedside, just slipping her "99 Lisbon" jersey over her head and down her nude body.

_Oh god…!_ He looked away and closed the door back to the way it was. The sight had taken his breath away; pert breasts, slender waist, full hips, rounded butt, firm legs… _oh god_!

With his powers of deductive reasoning, there was very little ever truly hidden from him, including physical attributes that he assessed simply to retain the details. Stride type, body construction, speech patterns, characteristic twitches and tics; all taken in as useful data to help identify and remember a person.

And it wasn't like he'd never seen naked women before. Hell, he'd even seen Lisbon shirtless. Once time during an arrest, a murder suspect attacked, tearing Lisbon's blouse in an effort to judo toss her so he could get away. He failed miserably, irreparably damaging her shirt in the process. Patrick was more impressed by how handily she kicked the guy's ass than seeing her in her functional, plain white bra, showing less of her fair white skin than any woman wearing a bikini top on Malibu Beach. The only thing that really stood out was the scar on her shoulder where Craig O'Loughlin's bullet had struck her. At the time of the fight, she was so pumped with adrenaline, the entire team knew better than to say anything. Cho handed over his jacket before Jane could offer the vest from his suit.

But having just now held her close in his arms, vulnerable and small, changed how he viewed her. He had comforted the woman who never let the world get the better of her, and it opened a small possibility in his heart that the deep respect and love he held for his dear friend might develop into something else.

Sometimes he saw things in the world that he wished he could scrub from his incredible photographic memory, images full of pain or hurt or cruelty that he'd force into remote locations that he'd rarely draw out again.

This wasn't one of those. She was incredibly beautiful and full of grace both in body and in mind.

After taking a few moments to slow his breathing and overcome his physical reaction to her nudity, he rattled the knob and open the door again, not looking towards the dressing mirror.

"Are you decent?"

"Just a sec… Okay."

He exited the bath and stepped towards the beds just as she adjusted the waistband on the leggings she wore under the jersey.

"Oh," he said lightly. "You're still using that old jersey as pajamas?"

She looked down, tugging out at the hem. "Normally I wear a camisole and yoga pants, but this was clean so I just tossed it in the bag."

The jersey had been perfect for the set up to catch Doctor Carmen; chosen to be sexy enough to distract Carmen in case Lisbon's mental patient act wasn't enough on its own. At the time, Jane was in con artist mode and all he could think about was the success of the gag. It wasn't until later that he realized how the oversized jersey made her short little legs seem slender and much longer than they were.

Inwardly he groaned. The idea of her in a spaghetti-strapped cami and hip-hugging yoga pants was enough to make him return to the bathroom for a cold shower.

"So, that answers _that_ question about you," she smiled slightly, gesturing toward him. "For a while I wondered if you had special three-piece pajamas made."

He stopped at her look of amusement. _She wondered what I wear to bed?_ He was certain she didn't realize the implications, and now was not the time to ask the question 'why?'

"Normally I wear both top and bottom pajamas, but I only packed the bottoms. Blue is my favorite, but I also own a sunny yellow set that matches my bunny slippers."

She looked at his feet without thought, making him smile.

"No, I didn't bring them. I was a little pressed for time in my packing this morning."

A light chuckle escaped her as she reached over to turn on the bedside lights. "You don't own _bunny_ _slippers_."

He laughed too and went to switch off the overhead lights. "Actually I don't own any slippers. I prefer to go barefoot."

When he returned to the bedside, she was folding back her bed linens. As he began to do the same on his bed, she sat down and stared at him. He sat opposite her and looked back. The way her gaze darted away, looking at everything but him, it was evident she had something on her mind.

"Do you want me to put you in a light trance to help you sleep?" he asked.

She looked at him in surprise and a smile loosened her expression. "No, but it's nice of you to offer."

They sat in silence for another moment. Finally he reached behind him and lifted the linens to climb in.

"Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"Jane…? Patrick…?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. You've been a very good friend."

He sat forward again and shrugged. "It's nothing, Teresa. After all you've done for me over all the time we've known one another, I owe you more than a few days in Chicago."

"I knew you'd say something like that." She shook her head in disbelief. "It's not '_nothing'_. It really means a lot to me. I'm not sure how I'd hold myself together for all this –"

"You'd be fine. You _are_ fine. It's never easy to handle these things, but you are uniquely capable of grace under fire."

"You need to take credit where it's due, Patrick."

Then she rose, crouched over, and kissed him tenderly. Beyond tenderly. Lingeringly.

It was not good timing. His brain hadn't yet tucked away memories of the soft pink of her nipples and the rich brown of her trim muff, the images causing a passionate, delicious burn in his belly that dropped to his groin. He buried his fingers in her silky hair and deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue between her lips in featherweight strokes. To his great surprise, she kissed him back, sighing as she met his tongue with her own. They had kissed deeply before, although usually at her door at the end of a date, and it was always brief, just enough to get his heart pounding. He never felt inclined to try anything more, not wanting to push her beyond the point before she was ready. Right now, however, he wanted to not just cross the line but obliterate it entirely.

But that would be wrong. She wasn't thinking clearly, only trying to distract herself from the pain she was in, the aloneness that comes with tragedy.

He withdrew, placing a gentle push on her shoulders to increase the distance between them. She looked confused and then embarrassed.

"Have I ever told you what a beautiful woman you are, Teresa?"

Patting the mattress next to him, he smiled. He was glad when she sat.

"I'm your faithful friend, my dear, and all I want is what's best for you. But you have to _know_ what you truly want and when it's best for you to have it."

She stared at her hands clasped in her lap. "I think…I think I need more time."

"I'll be here when you're ready." He laughed at a thought and said, "_You've_ been paying attention. You noticed a long time ago that I'm very patient when waiting for something I want."

Her gaze rose to meet his so he nodded with encouragement. After giving him a hesitant smile, she dropped her gaze to his chest and leaned in to hug him. As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, he sighed again when her hand ran over his stomach on its way to his far side. She was killing him.

"Good night, my dear."

She released him and returned to her bed.

"Good night, Patrick," she said, turning off the light.

In the darkness, he listened to her breathing until it assumed the steady pattern of sleep. Knowing how exhausted she must be, he wasn't surprised it didn't take long.

He drew a deep breath as the image of her fabulous body came to mind again. How had he found it so easy to ignore what a sensuous being she was? When they first met, she was a beautiful young detective with a chip on her shoulder the size of the California state house, but he always understood that was mostly because she was a woman assigned in an aggressive male-dominant workplace. A little extra toughness went a long way in smoothing a path over a difficult road. And it wasn't all an act; she was truly badass.

She must be if she handled him for as long as she did.

Back then it seemed they butted heads about everything. She was so completely 'by-the-book', whereas most days all he wanted to do was scribble in those books with blue and green crayons. Over time, they found a way to compromise and reach common ground, although things often got settled with playful banter and light-hearted bickering. Sometimes he looked back at their fights in amusement, wondering when they'd turned into an old married couple.

He interlaced his fingers over his chest as the realization struck him. Maybe _that_ was the problem with them. Maybe _that's_ why two months of dating had not yielded any change in their relationship beyond a sweet but somewhat awkward goodnight kiss at her door at the end of the evening. Emotionally they were married, yet neither of them had attended the ceremony.

Now that he recognized the problem, what was to be done about it?

_I need to court her._

Properly. Not taking her for granted. No more 'hey, let's meet at the park for a concert' or 'how about a drink at O'Malley's after work?' He needed to treat her like the gorgeous, sexy woman she was and remind her that she had the power to drive him wild with just a sideways glance. And when she gave those glances, he'd let it show what it did to him, instead of hiding his reactions like he did with the rest of the world. She was special to him and she needed to know it.

But not right now. The loss of Tommy and Annie, plus Annie's husband had created enough turmoil in her life without having to wonder what the hell was up with him. And he knew that would be her reaction. No, it was time to remain a friend. Romance would come later.

Then she wouldn't know what hit her.

A smile played on his lips. Earlier that day on the plane, he was chagrined to realize he had no plan for his life.

Yep, he had one now – wooing Teresa Lisbon until she loved him as much as he loved her.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	13. C13 - Insistent Assistant

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thank you to Cumberland River Relic who beta'd for me!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 13_**

A soft, cutesy voice woke her gently.

"You're so adorable. Yes, you are. Cute as cute can be."

A baby's coo answered, followed by exaggerated kissing sounds. Teresa opened her eyes and was greeted with the sight of a grinning Patrick Jane, sitting cross-legged on his bed, bent forward, kissing Daniel's feet playfully. The light in his eyes was familiar; she saw it every time he interacted with children, especially infants.

Her gaze ran along his body. She considered herself in decent physical condition, but there's no way she'd be able to sit like he was. His legs were crossed and his chest nearly resting on his feet, not straining at all to maintain the position. It was like a yoga position that Van Pelt would have envied.

How had she never noticed how healthy his body was? There were solid muscles under that snug white t-shirt! It was a shock last night when he came out of the bathroom looking a bit like a gymnast with crisp definition. She felt like a dork as she managed to stop from asking if he worked out. It would either come across as an insult or as a cheesy pickup line. Instead she commented on his pajama choice, which was just mindlessly _dumb_.

Not as idiotic as when she practically threw herself at him, French kissing him like she did.

Still, he was kind to her by not rejecting her flat out, and really, he was the one that started it, right? It was just a little kiss expressing how thankful she was to him for looking after her like a friend. It wasn't her fault that his body was more than she expected to be lurking under that ubiquitous three-piece suit.

Heat rose around her neck and cheeks.

Okay, she had to admit that despite everything that was going on, the sight of his tight body turned her on. Patrick Jane was sexy even in the worst possible moment. How the hell did he manage that?

As he began to tickle Daniel's tummy and make gibbering noises, the baby's foot came up and bopped Patrick right in his nose. Teresa couldn't help but giggle at the silly grin that came to his face.

He smiled at her and straightened, resting his elbows on his thighs. "You're awake. Good morning."

"Good morning."

"This kid is an angel," he said, tickling the baby again. "Those Lisbon genes. I bet you were just this cute when you were little. No…cuter probably."

Teresa covered her embarrassment at his sweet compliment by climbing out of bed and kneeling on the floor near Daniel.

"Hi, little boy. It's so nice to see you with your beautiful eyes open."

The baby gurgled happily and reached for Teresa. When she held out her finger, he grabbed it tightly, trying to bring it to his mouth.

"Oh, oh, someone's hungry, of course," Patrick said. "Do you want to change him while I prepare his bottle? Or do you want to fix his bottle?"

"Let me change him. I can practice my new skill."

"Sounds perfect."

Then he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"And I just want to say that you're still a cute Lisbon."

He departed for the grocery bags, leaving her blushing madly as she prepared to change Daniel.

That little charmer! She wondered what he was up to.

* * *

After Daniel was bathed, changed and fed, Patrick ordered breakfast from room service while Teresa protested about the expense. He merely smiled and started organizing their possessions for departure after they ate.

"So give me your list," he said, interrupting her persistent vows to somehow pay him back.

"List?"

"The things you need to take care of. Share them with me so we're both on the same page today."

It threw her off stride. That wasn't how things happened in her world. At work? Sure, she delegated some tasks, but her personal concerns were just that; _personal_.

When she didn't answer, he looked up from the suitcase he was unzipping. "Teresa? You might as well use my help. I'm coming along anyway."

God, he was exasperating! "I'm thinking, Jane."

"I suggest Tommy's apartment first. We can drop off all this stuff and see if he has a landline and answering machine. Maybe your brothers left messages there."

Her brothers. She went to her phone and scanned at it. Missed calls from Cho and other work related numbers, probably messages of condolence which she didn't want to hear at the moment. None from James or Michael.

"I already looked," Jane said plainly, "this morning before you woke, after I got back from the gym."

She glared at him. "You're checking my phone?"

"Of course. I'm here to help you. Think of me as your personal assistant for this trip. Isn't that why I tagged along?"

She skimmed through her missed calls list again just to be sure, then froze.

"Wait…gym?"

"Yes, it's on the lobby level, left off the elevators. Next to the pool."

With a start, she caught herself running a critical eye over his trim body still dressed in that damned sexy t-shirt and the blue pajama bottoms. A lump formed in her throat when she met his gaze. His amusement was unmistakable.

"Sorry." Even to her, her voice sounded squeaky and strained.

"I don't seem the 'regular work-out' type, I know. But when you're an insomniac, there's only so much time you can spend snooping people's desks at night."

"And there's a twenty-four hour gym two blocks from the CBI," she added, nodding. "You should have told me. I can't always find the motivation to go."

"Okay, next time." He gave an understanding smile as he nodded again. "So what else do you want to get done today? I'll hold your list for you."

What a good suggestion! Right now her memory felt like it had more holes than a used paper target at the firing range, in contrast to his which was spectacular, even under the worst pressure. It was one of the reasons Red John's punishment of him was so extraordinarily cruel. Complete recall is a double-edged sword.

She took a deep breath. "Okay…I need to call a funeral home to get the bodies from the M.E.'s office. I have to find Tommy's address book or whatever he has to let people know he's…he's gone. And Annie's friends, I guess. The funeral home will place the obituary in the paper, I think. And I need to get a number for Jared's family so I can coordinate getting his belongings to them. But I guess I can't really decide what needs to be done until we get to Tommy's."

"Do you have his address?"

Her gaze dropped to her phone and she handed it over. "Here, Mister Secretary," she said sarcastically.

He chuckled. "You're learning. Good."

She glared at him. "Don't patronize me, Jane."

He grinned in return and crossed for the crib. As he released the safety latches and began to close it, he gestured toward the bathroom with his head. "Take your shower before the food arrives. Daniel has fallen back to sleep and I got the rest of this stuff."

After a glance at the baby, she gathered her stuff and left for the bathroom.

_Good ol' Jane._

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	14. C14 - Controlled?

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks, CRR, a.k.a. Beta Extraordinaire!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 14_**

In the working class neighborhood of Bridgeport where Tommy and Annie lived, parking was at a premium. Patrick double parked in front of the two story frame building and insisted that Teresa stay with the baby, ready to move the vehicle if a cop should come to write a ticket. It took three trips, but he carried everything to the second-floor apartment alone. Then he helped her release the carrier and gave her Tommy's keys.

"There's a bit of a surprise upstairs," he said, closing the car door and starting for the driver's side.

"Oh, no…what now?"

"It's nothing bad…exactly. Just something else to take care of before we return to California. I'll be right back. I'll find a parking spot."

She sighed and started toward the building, dreading what _thing_ she'd find that surprised Jane. Was it an abandoned pet? A starved cat? An aquarium full of dead fish? An apartment destroyed by a dog left alone for two days without food and water or being allowed outside to do its duty?

Actually it was things – hundreds of things. Boxes and boxes of baseball cards piled next to the computer desk in the living room. When she looked more closely, she saw print-screens of individual online auction site pages taped to the cartons. The auction numbers corresponded to the numbers written on some of the boxes.

"Crap…" she muttered. Yes, one more loose end to tie up.

The rest of the living room was in excellent shape. She knew it wouldn't be extravagant. This was her little brother Tommy, after all. However, it was a lot cleaner than when she'd visited three years before. Cleaner than Teresa's apartment in California, that was for certain!

Evidently Annabeth had matured a lot since they'd last seen each other. The room was homey and warm. Despite being a college student _and_ a newlywed _and_ a new Mom, Annie did a great job keeping their lives comfortable.

The conclusion she'd thoughtlessly drawn made her feel guilty. There was no way Annie could have stayed on top of her Dad's mess-making abilities all on her own, and it was sexist for her to assume that Jared didn't help around the house. No doubt Jared helped. Look at how much Jane had helped in just the last 24 hours! Talk about sexist assumption; _she_ was the helpless one in the face of changing a diaper but Jane knew all about it. Thank God not all men were like her dad. As far as Teresa was concerned, hard-drinking, macho grunters like her father were the least attractive men on the face of the planet. Most of the men Teresa was attracted to were globally-opposite her father. She was somewhat disappointed with seeing some of their dad's 'traditional roles' thinking in her brother and frankly it wasn't a shock that Tommy's marriage didn't last. He and Lucilla married way too young and both of them were immature, even for their ages. And as much as Annie loved her dad, Teresa wasn't in the least bit surprised that Annie didn't marry "her father".

But who _did_ she marry? For example, what did Jared Vogelstein do for a living anyway? Not wanting to be nosy, 'Aunt Reese' never asked Annie too much about the man she'd married, while at the same time Teresa had felt protective of her niece. She even resisted using CBI resources to look up the young man's name and record. There was mention of classes they were taking together, so it seemed likely that Jared planned to go into law enforcement, and sometimes Annie referenced Jared's second job as a waiter at a local restaurant, but Teresa never found out what his first job was.

Baby Daniel coughed lightly in the carrier, drawing her from thoughts. After checking on him and determining he was fine, she put the carrier on the living room floor next to the piles of things Jane had brought in.

She crossed to the kitchen to see about making a pot of coffee. At the hotel Jane had offered to make more in the in-room coffee maker since she expressed how much she'd enjoyed it, but there really wasn't time.

She opened the cabinet over the coffee pot and smiled at the sight of a plastic container familiar from her last visit to Chicago. The sides were covered with gray patches of duct tape residue from where Tommy had taped it shut after Teresa kept stealing her brother's Oreos during her visit.

As she reached to withdraw it, there was a crisp knock on wood.

What the hell? Had she locked Jane out by accident? She returned to the living room and opened the front door.

A little old lady stared at her, worried. Her rheumy eyes were big and ice-blue in a sea of wrinkles that made up her face. Yet as Teresa started to greet her and ask what she could help with, the woman's face softened in happy recognition.

"You're Tommy's sister from California!" she exclaimed.

"Er…yes…hi, I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Oh, I know! I know! 'Reese', Tommy calls you. He was telling me all about how you stopped that serial killer guy. He always let me read all the news articles. He'd print them off the computer for me. He was so proud of your achievements."

Not knowing how to respond, Teresa nodded.

"Are you visiting to see the baby? I know Annie was anxious for you to come to Chicago and meet Jared and Daniel."

It was an unintended stab to the heart, but how could this woman know that?

"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name," Teresa said, diverting the subject.

The old lady's face flooded with color.

"Oh, I'm Lillith MacGyver. I'm Tommy's landlady. I live downstairs."

Teresa swallowed hard, remembering how Tommy made certain to avoid her three years before. It wasn't that she was a bad woman, just a bit talkative.

Now Teresa stared at the woman in dread for a different reason entirely. _Get hold of yourself, Lisbon! You're going to have to do this task repeatedly during your entire stay in Chicago. _She sighed heavily.

"It's nice to meet you at last, Mrs. MacGyver."

"Oh, call me 'Lilly'. Everyone does."

"Lilly," Teresa repeated. "Well…Lilly… won't you step in, please?"

The old woman entered and crossed to Daniel in the carrier, making cooing noises and touching the baby's nose.

"When Tommy told me he was taking the kids up to Milwaukee to look at a house, he didn't mention that they were staying a couple nights." Lilly straightened and smiled at Teresa before glancing around the room as if looking for Tommy. "Although it must not have been a very good place. Usually he'll stop by and tell me about what they've seen. With you being in town, he must have gotten busy." She leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "You know, I don't mind telling you that I'm afraid one of these days they'll find something they really like and I'll lose the best tenants I ever- Why, whatever is wrong, my dear? Why are you crying?"

Teresa pulled another one of Patrick's handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her face. The front door opened, and both turned to Patrick entering. He stared into her eyes before glancing at the visitor and then back to her. He hurried forward and placed his hands on her upper arms.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She wiped her cheeks again and nodded as she turned back.

"Mrs. MacGyver, I have some terrible news to share." She paused, taking a deep breath. Patrick's hand on the small of her back helped a lot. Something about his contact left her stronger. Was it just a reminder of what she thought he expected her to be, stoic and firm? Or did she just know deep down that no matter what, he was going to be there from now on? "When Tommy and the kids were driving back from Milwaukee, their car was involved in a head-on collision. They're all…" She swallowed hard. "They didn't survive."

"Oh, dear," Lilly said, softly. She placed her hand on Teresa's arm and squeezed. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" The woman peered desperately into Teresa's eyes. "Anything at all? Can…can I make you some lunch?"

"Thank you, Mrs. MacGyver," she replied, stifling her tears. She hated to see how they were distressing the woman. "We had breakfast not too long ago."

"Perhaps we can impose upon you. You wouldn't have the makings for a cup of tea, would you?" Patrick asked.

Teresa glared at him, getting a puzzled-innocent look and a shrug in return. She shook her head at him and looked at the landlady.

"May I introduce my friend Patrick? He's helping me settle Tommy's affairs."

"Patrick?" she asked, accepting his handshake. "Patrick Jane?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling his "glad-to-have-such-a-good-looking-audience" smile that Teresa knew would lead to Mrs. MacGyver providing teabags. "Have we met before?"

"No, no, I don't believe so. Annie told me her aunt's boyfriend is named Patrick Jane, so you must be him."

Patrick nodded indulgently, squeezing the woman's hand before releasing it. "Yes, that is me, Aunt Reesie's boyfriend." He quirked an eyebrow at Teresa in that cocky way he possessed before helping to remove his overcoat from her shoulders.

Teresa felt the blush rise around her neck into her face.

"Mrs. MacGyver," she said when she found her voice. "I should let you know that we're going to be staying here for a few days while we're in town. I hope that's okay."

"Oh, that's perfectly all right. Tommy is paid up through the end of the year." Her voice took on the tone of someone settling into storytelling mode. "He always paid ahead of time when the construction season ended. His job as a bounty hunter sometimes kept him out of town for weeks on end, and he wasn't always here at the end of the month to pay his rent, so he always paid a couple months at a time. I don't know why he didn't just have Annie pay it. Her name was on the checking account so she could have easily written the check. It was always such a mystery to—"

Teresa stopped herself from rolling her eyes as it became clear that the landlady was the biggest busybody in Bridgeport.

"Mrs. MacGyver, do you know if Tommy was renting garage space nearby?" Patrick interjected.

Her old lips puckered and her wide eyes looked at him in surprise. Again he gave her the showman smile. Teresa thought she saw a little blush.

"Yes, actually, he used mine." She leaned towards Teresa. "I don't drive anymore. When I need to go someplace, my great-granddaughter comes and—"

Patrick showed the woman Tommy's keys. "Are one of these the key to the garage?"

After she pointed to one, he slipped on his overcoat and waved to them both.

"Going to move the car," he said and dashed out the door.

_Coward_, she thought. _Leaving me here to deal with Chatty Cathy…_

"Mrs. MacGyver, if you wouldn't mind terribly, could you leave me alone for a bit? It's been a very trying twenty-four hours, and I think I just need to rest quietly for a while."

"Oh! Oh, dear, yes! Let me know if you need anything. I'll be right downstairs. Just knock."

"Patrick may come by for some teabags but otherwise I think we're fine. Thanks so much for everything."

She closed the door after the woman and locked it, suspecting Mrs. MacGyver was the type to justify letting herself in. After taking Daniel from his carrier, Teresa put him on her hip and walked around the apartment a bit, reacquainting herself with it.

The biggest shock was about the smaller of the two bedrooms. Gone was the teenager's posters of rock stars and silver screen idols. The smaller bedroom of the apartment was now Tommy's room, messy and crowded.

Tommy's former bedroom, the bigger one, was also crowded, but with baby stuff. Yet despite the crib and the changing table and the matching dresser taking a majority of the space, it had charm and style. Soothing pastels and light fabrics dominated the esthetic, feeling peaceful and relaxing. Annie and Jared had definitely made themselves a home.

And she was proud of her brother for giving up his room for them. What a good grandpa!

She turned to exit the room and jumped in surprise. Patrick stood in the doorway, watching her. Then he glanced around the décor.

"How lovely," he said, not acknowledging that he'd startled her. "Annabeth had really matured into a young lady of taste."

He smiled and stepped back so she could pass. He followed her to the main living space.

"Tell you what. Let's get a bottle ready, and then I'll move my things into Tommy's room and yours into the kids' room while you feed Daniel."

She glanced back at him. "Feed him? Already? Didn't he just eat?"

"He's a baby, Lisbon. Babies may not seem to eat much but they eat often. And afterwards, he'll probably sleep some more."

She followed him first to the pile of items he brought in and then to the kitchen, feeling lost and helpless on how to assist. As much as she wanted to put her undivided her attention to watching how he prepared the bottle, she also felt a need to keep Daniel occupied and happy. Besides, the baby was so adorable, she kept looking and talking and snuggling with him.

When the bottle was ready, she settled into the rocking chair in the living room. With a few bits of advice from Patrick, she was soon feeding him, rocking gently as she watched in fascination. Gradually his enthusiasm for the nipple waned and he stopped suckling, instead blinking at her and even yawning once. She stood and looked around for Patrick. The pile of luggage and baby things had been cleared from the floor.

She set the half-empty bottle on the table and started for the bedroom where the crib was. Patrick was headed out of Tommy's room toward her, adjusting a towel on his shoulder.

"I'm going to put him in the crib," she whispered.

"No, not yet, Auntie Reese. He probably has a big burp due and we'll give him ten minutes sitting up to settle everything before we lay him down to sleep."

Oh, yeah, she'd forgotten that he did that this morning. The first part was kinda gross to witness, although interacting with Daniel afterwards had been fun. She hadn't realized it was a two-part system.

"May I?" Patrick asked, patting the towel on his shoulder and then holding out his hands.

"Be my guest," she said. With care she handed him over. Patrick settled the little dear against his shoulder and began to bob at the knees, all the while murmuring and patting very softly. Within a minute, Daniel rewarded him with a healthy burp.

"That's a good boy," Patrick said, still patting and bobbing. "Got any more?"

Another one issued forth, not nearly as loud nor as wet.

"Could you fold the towel so there's a dry part towards him?" Patrick asked putting his shoulder toward her.

As she did as requested, she realized he wasn't wearing his vest. Patrick in shirtsleeves? It was an odd sight. How long had it been since she'd seen that?

Well… since that morning, actually, when he was in that form-fitting, sexy, white t-shirt and the soft flannel bottoms that hung on his nice butt.

She watched him hold the child close, murmuring soft assurances as he paced. Something came over her – a deep desire to be part of the intimate contentment he was sharing with the little boy. When he stopped and stared out the window a moment, she came up close and ran her hand down his back, fascinated with the peace on Daniel's face. Her finger tips lingered a moment on his side before dropping to his lower back. Yep, those muscles were still there. It had not been an illusion or a mentalist's trick.

"Hey, what's going on back there?" he said lightly, trying to look over the baby at her.

She jerked her hand back and moved so he couldn't see her face that felt tingly.

"Sorry… you…have lint from the fleece blanket on your back. Just thought I'd…I'd brush it off."

"Oh. Okay, thanks." Then he chuckled. "You really are a terrible liar, Lisbon. I don't even need to see your eyes to tell you're lying. Next you'll be trying to tell me you never said I'm your boyfriend. Geez…"

Then he walked into the bedroom where the crib was.

* * *

_**To be continued in a while, a few more days than usual. I'm having a little difficulty writing the J&L argument. Stay tuned…**_


	15. C15 - No Love Lost

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

**_Be warned: f-bomb dropped._**

**_Thanks to Cumberland River Relic._**

**_Chapter 15_**

Teresa gaped for a moment, staring at his retreating back.

"I… I never said you're … I…we…Listen, Annie called right before we went on a date once—"

"Shh…we need to create a serene atmosphere for him…"

Swallowing her protests, she followed him, watching closely and soon forgetting her embarrassment. She marveled at his tenderness and care. In moments the boy was asleep. Patrick turned on the baby monitor and followed her from the room.

"How do you do that?" she asked rhetorically as they entered the living room. "It's almost like he was hypnotized."

"All babies have to do to fill their day is eat, sleep and poop with an occasional look around at moving objects. Those things simply tire them out thoroughly. The trick is not to wait until they're overly-tired."

"Oh, I know, I know. It just seems so…so…easy for you, and I…"

Words failed her. She sank onto the sofa, a heaviness filling her stomach. Why was she so inept in taking care of this child? It was _her family,_ ultimately her responsibility. Once again she was failing due to complete ignorance and emotional blindness.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," he said, sitting next to her. "When we…when my wife and I found out we were pregnant, we knew a lot less than you, but we had fully seven months for extensive reading and asking people and attending classes in order to prepare.

"You, on the other hand, have been thrown into this with no warning whatsoever. Think about it; this time yesterday, you were standing in line, waiting to order one of those frothy coffees that you indulge in every Thursday morning."

She reared back and stared at him. He knew that? How did he know that she treated herself every week like that?

_He's Jane, that's how. Probably noticed the foamy cup in my trash every week._

"I'd say you've done very well, Teresa," he continued, his voice light and encouraging. "You've gotten through this despite not being within earshot of an espresso machine!"

She looked at him from the corner of her eye and gave him a rueful smile. How could she continue to be hard on herself when he put it that way? Maybe she really did need to cut herself some slack. He certainly was.

"I'm doing my best."

"Of course you are. You always do." He patted her leg lightly. "Now…I think we need to get to the things on your list. Did you check if there's an answering machine? What about his email?"

"No…I forgot."

He stood and offered his hand to help her. "Daniel won't nap long. Let's get as much done as we can."

She nodded and put her hand in his. The warmth in his firm grasp flowed through her arm and settled in her heart, filling her with gratitude, inspiring her to keep going. Once again she was reminded how strong her friend Patrick Jane was.

As Teresa contacted the funeral home, the same one that handled her father's funeral so many years earlier, Patrick sat at the computer trying to hack the password.

"Ah ha!" he said in triumph. "'ILOVEDANNYBOY' with zeros and threes instead of ohs and an E. A little predictable, Grandpa Tommy."

His outcry made it impossible for her to hear the funeral home director on the phone. "Jane? Please? Do you mind?"

He scrunched his shoulders and turned back to the computer, contrite. Teresa finished her call, setting up an appointment to visit the funeral parlor. After she hung up, she came to look over Patrick's shoulder.

"Anything useful?"

"Oh, sure. Tommy's high score on Angry Birds was pathetic and he keeps very good records about his business dealings. The baseball cards are actually barter payment for some contractor work he did for a Mister Vaughn O'Shaughnessy—"

"Nessy?" she said. That was a name she hadn't heard in years. It was a family friend, a former neighbor when she was growing up who had been a tremendous help when her father…well, when her father was incapacitated or when she and her brothers needed to get away from the house for a while. "God, he has to be at least ninety now."

"Then really, the cards were accepted as a token gesture in payment for house repairs or something. There's probably no value in them, but Tommy was trying to just get rid of them without throwing them away."

"Probably. Is it important?"

"No, I'd guess not, but if they were valuable, they'd be a good inheritance for Daniel. There are a lot of them, so it's still possible. I glanced through them. Some of them are quite old." He smiled gently at her. "What are you going to do with them? How are you going to get this stuff to California?"

Teresa gaped a moment, staring blankly. God, it never occurred to her; she had to deal with _all_ of Tommy and Annie's stuff, not just a bunch of old baseball cards! All the furniture, the clothes, the—

Patrick's light grasp of her wrist shook her from her shock.

"Did you find the answering machine?"

"Yeah…yeah, there's nothing on it except a couple of general contractors looking to hire Tommy. The rest of the storage was filled with panicky messages from Susan Smithson, asking Annie where she was. There was a list of phone numbers next to the machine but the listings for my brothers are the same numbers I have already."

Patrick looked away, lost in thought. She smiled when he brought his forefinger up to tap his lip.

_He's onto something_.

"What if…what if you used my phone to call your brothers? Maybe they'll answer."

"Why would they answer a number they don't recognize over my number that they might?"

"Maybe … they're just setting things up so that you'll take care of everything. 'Don't get involved.' 'Leave it for big sister' and all that."

Wouldn't that just be the truth! All her life she's been taking care of things for her self-centered, chauvinistic-pig brothers!

"Using your phone won't make a difference then," she said. "They'll just recognize the Sacramento area code."

"Not if…not if we use my wife's phone. It has a Malibu area code. One or the other might not recognize it as California."

"What?"

"It's a 310 area code—"

"Yeah, I got that part. What do you mean 'your wife's phone'?"

He reached back to his coat hanging on the computer chair and pulled out a small, very basic phone, different from his usual Razr. After powering it up, he entered a speed dial and handed the phone to her. She put it to her ear.

"_You have one saved message. To play the message, press one_." She did and listened. A little girl's voice came on. "Hi Mommy! It's Charlotte! We're still at the zoo! Daddy told me to call and tell you that I think that tigers are bett—"

The voice broke into uncontrolled giggles and in the background Patrick said, "I told you I'd tickle you if you didn't say lions are better."

"Okay, okay, okay," the giggler screeched. "Lions are better!"

The happy laughter continued for a moment before trailing off. Patrick called, "Tell Mommy we're bringing pizza home for dinner."

"Mommy, we're bringing pizza home for dinner. Cheese!"

"And pineapple," Patrick said.

"An' pineapple for Daddy."

"Say 'I love you, Mommy'."

"Love you, Mommy! Bye!"

The phone recording made a scraping noise like the phone was passing from Charlotte to Daddy.

"Hope your meeting is productive, love. We'll see you at home. Goodbye."

The message ended so Teresa closed the phone. Patrick looked embarrassed.

"What a sweet memento," she said softly, trying to hand the phone back.

"There's nothing more pathetic than a man who keeps a cellphone account active just to be able to listen to a single message when he's…lonely."

"There's nothing more admirable than a man who loves his family."

He grunted. "Obsessively?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "Patrick Jane, you do everything obsessively. It's just a part of you, balancing nicely against your approach to life as being a giant chess board that you plan ten moves ahead. I think I'd worry if you suddenly changed either of those."

Again she became cognizant of his muscles and warmth under her hand. It seemed a little awkward, considering they were talking about Angela and Charlotte.

Then again, this was the first time Patrick had ever shared anything like that with her. Possibly with anyone. The significance seemed to weigh in the air, even stilling their breathing for a moment.

Reaching up, Patrick took her hand off his shoulder and brought it to brush gently against his lips.

"Thank you, Teresa. You're quite a woman to be so understanding of my crazy quirks."

For the briefest moment, she thought her knees would buckle at the caress of his words against her skin. It was so unbelievably intimate and sexy, like the hot breath of a lover. She stopped herself from responding with a numb sort of "uhhh".

Instead she managed to say, "I've had a few years to grow accustomed, just as you're used to mine."

"The few I've noticed are very nice." He placed her hand back on his shoulder and patted it. "So try to call your brothers. It certainly can't hurt to try. I'll look over Tommy's emails to see if there's anything I can clear up for you."

Reluctantly she let him go and returned to the rocker where she'd sat while feeding the baby. She dialed and listened to it ring, holding her breath.

"Yeah?"

"James? It's Reese."

An exasperated sigh came back at her. "Yeah."

"James…I don't know how to say this but… Tommy's dead."

Dead silence for ten seconds. Then… "Yeah, I know. The coroner's office called."

_Yeah, I know? _

"Annie and her husband died too."

"That's too bad."

_What the hell kind of answer was that? _She tried again.

"But Daniel survived. He was with the babysitter."

"Who?"

"Their four-month-old child? Your great-nephew Daniel?"

"Oh."

More silence.

"James…are you all right? I just told you your baby brother and your niece are dead. Her son is an orphan."

"Yeah, I know… and I'm sorry to hear all that but… but I can't do anything about it."

_What the hell? Has the fucking world gone insane?_

"You can't…_what_?"

"Reese, listen…the truth is I don't really give a shit. Tommy and I haven't spoken in years… and besides that… well, Donna and I are getting a divorce. We waited until Julie and Stephen were old enough to deal with it, but now, well, … it's over. I'm living up in Iron Mountain, Michigan, now, and frankly, I can't afford to miss work at my new job to come back for a funeral, even if I wanted to…which I don't."

Pain shot through her chest as she fought against the sobs building up there. Strange noises issued from her open mouth that she didn't recognize.

"Listen, Reese, I'm at work. I gotta go."

There was a click and then silence. She almost dropped the phone in shock.

"Teresa? Are you all right?"

Fingers intertwined with her free hand while the phone was lifted from her other.

"What did he say to you?"

She looked at Patrick, crouched before her, studying her face with a worried expression.

"He…he said he's getting a divorce and that he can't come to see his brother get buried."

_He won't come. Damn it, he doesn't care…_

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I'm really so sorry."

_Damn it, my brother doesn't care…_

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	16. C16 - Quarrel

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

**_Tough chapter for me to write. Hope it's satisfactory. Thanks to CRR for his help with it, mostly his encouragement and kind words._**

**_Chapter 16_**

"Deep breath, Teresa. It will make you feel better."

She took his advice, following his physical action, concentrating on his hand gesturing up and down. He was right, as usual; she felt calmer and in better control.

"James said he and Donna are separated and divorcing. And he is not coming to… to the funeral because… he and Tommy didn't get along. They haven't for years…I-I-I mean, I knew… _that_ …but I really thought…"

She trailed off. Again Patrick began gesturing to encourage breathing.

"You thought this would bring him back into the family fold. Teresa, I think you're going to find the same problem with Michael. The bitterness about your father's abuse of you and your brothers is just too great to overcome. You're the only one who found a way to get past it."

"Jane –"

"I know you think I'm cruel by being so blunt, but you need to prepare to be alone in all this."

She withdrew from his grasp and buried her face in her hands, although she didn't cry.

_My brother doesn't care that I lost my brother…_

"You're strong enough to handle things, Teresa."

"Jane…I was hoping…hoping that James and Donna would be able to take guardianship of Daniel." She sat back and placed her hands in her thighs, staring at them. "I wanted to get it all settled before I call DCFS."

"DCFS? Why are you thinking about calling Family Services? We'll care for Daniel until we find someone who can take him."

"That's what I said; I want to settle this before I call."

"It's not exactly the same. If you call before you get him into another family member's house, they'll take him away and put him in foster care immediately."

"Well…yeah, and that's the law."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Wait for a little while, at least."

"He's my responsibility."

"Lisbon, he's just a little baby.

"Jane, as a law enforcement officer, I'm obligated to—"

"You don't have to."

"I can't keep him, Patrick. He needs a family who can be with him. I'm in no position to take care of a child —"

To her horror, he released her hand and grabbed his coat from off the arm of the sofa. Her jaw dropped open as she stared at him. He never looked back as he passed through the front door, closing it with exaggerated softness.

"Oh my God…"

_He's left me. But I thought he…_

Soft noises came from the baby monitor, indicating that Daniel was awake. She remembered Jane telling her not to run in the moment the baby stirred, to give him a chance to go back to sleep if he was inclined.

_I can't believe Jane left me over this. I'm the one in charge of Daniel. I'm the one who decides what's best for him._

_And for me._

She put her attention to the monitor once again, dismayed that she fell so quickly out of attention of the baby and back into panic about Jane's departure. She couldn't do anything about Jane. She certainly wasn't going to run after him like some teenager breaking up with her boyfriend. Daniel was in her care and he needed her. Jane was… well, Jane was probably driving off in the rental back to the Park Hyatt or whatever. He'd have to take care of himself.

The sounds definitely indicated an awoken baby, so Teresa went to check on him. As she bent over the crib, the unmistakable aroma of thoroughly-processed formula filled her nostrils. Diaper change time.

* * *

Patrick Jane climbed down the stairs, slipping his arms into his overcoat. By the time he reached the bottom step, he was drained. He sank down, resting his forearms on his thighs.

_That poor child. Daniel is adorable and vulnerable and irresistible, but unless I find a way to convince her to hold off her sense of duty, he's also going to be inaccessible in very short order._

But it was her right and her responsibility. She was the one with the authority to decide his fate. Predictable as the outcome of a card trick, she always fell back on rules when she didn't like her options in life. If she was feeling apprehensive about caring for the child, her need to follow protocol and the law was going to be strong. They were her security blanket—emotional support when she felt she couldn't depend on anything else, including herself.

Or him. She obviously recognized his sincerity in wanting to help, but she had no assurance that she could depend on him for the long run. In fact his track record made it seem like a miracle that she trusted him at all. Yet, she did repeatedly, including now when she was her most vulnerable.

And what did he do when she'd made one of the hardest decisions of her life? He ran like a spoiled child.

But…he couldn't bear it. Daniel was…

_He's my wish-fulfillment. I love Teresa, and if she keeps Daniel, we can be parents together._

She would be a great Mom. She was patient and confident, as well as compassionate and loving. Maybe she hadn't known the mechanics of changing a diaper or prepping a bottle, but she knew all about comforting another and giving reassurance. Her job as she saw it would be staying firm about things being done right, instilling ethics and character. And his job would be as the fun parent, the one who served dessert for breakfast and taught how to have fun by tossing a rock into the air and catching it. She was the one who would raise the next great discoverer or a world leader. But if he were involved, that world leader would never take himself too seriously.

Sighing deeply, he dropped his head forward. As Senior Agent in Charge, her schedule was unpredictable and kept her from home for days at a time. She'd have to change her job within CBI if she were to remain with the Bureau. If she kept Daniel, she'd have to give up being a cop.

Teresa was right. She was in no position to take permanent guardianship of a baby.

Although he was. Patrick Jane, former consultant turned househusband?

He chuckled humorlessly. Yes, he could see why it never even crossed her mind.

With another deep sigh, he rose to his feet and climbed the stairs, each foot dragging to the next step.

She wasn't in the living room where he'd left her nor in the kitchen getting coffee. As he turned toward the bedrooms, her voice came over the baby monitor.

"You little darling," she said. "You're nice and dry and clean now. Happy, happy baby." She sniffled as though recovering from tears. "Let's go play, handsome boy."

He hurried to the sofa and sat on the end, crossing his legs, tucking his arms in, and lowering his eyes. Saying he was sorry wouldn't cut it. He had to look as sorry as he felt.

Her full attention was on the baby when she entered the room, and she jumped when she saw him. Daniel started crying and she crouched over him, making reassuring noises. Patrick rose to his feet to help, but she had the boy quieted in seconds.

"You did that very well," he said softly. "He senses that you want to keep him safe."

"I do. He's right."

The resentment that he caused was written in her tear-reddened eyes, although she tried to hide it. He couldn't blame her. He was ashamed of himself for it.

"Did you call yet?"

"I haven't had a chance. I got busy changing him."

"Do you want me to look up the number?"

She looked at him skeptically. Again, he didn't blame her.

"Teresa… look… I realize you're doing what you feel you have to. If it were me, it would be a different choice, but it's not me."

"No, it's not you….And yes, I'd appreciate it if you can look up the number."

He went to the computer while she put Daniel in the portable crib they'd set up next to the rocker.

"Stay there a minute, Danny boy. I have to call Uncle Michael and Grandma Lucilla."

Patrick glanced at her before entering Tommy's password. He prepared for some shouting.

"Call Lucilla first. I think Michael is going to upset you."

She glared at him but her expression turned into resignation. Apparently she hadn't kept her "mad on" about his brief departure if she wasn't fighting the idea that he was right.

The conversation was short, and just like the call to James, it left her speechless, although not as hurt. She accepted his comforting hug.

"Lucilla disowned Annie and doesn't want anything to do with Daniel."

"What? Why?"

"Because…because Jared is…was… Jewish."

Okay, he hadn't expected that. It had been evident that there was tension with Lucilla since he saw no pictures in the kids' bedroom of Grandma holding the baby, even though there were images of Tommy holding Daniel as well as other people with the baby, all Annie's age. And there was only a single picture of Annie's mother, a small one amongst others, in a collage photo frame. It indicated an issue but he never figured it had to do with religion. There was nothing in the apartment to indicate any kind of religious observance by Tommy or the kids. And even if it did, how did it matter?

"Well…if the pull of a first grandchild can't overcome her prejudice, she's probably not worth further thought."

She still looked stunned, so he took the phone from her, along with the phone list. "Play with Daniel. You'll feel better. This can wait a little awhile."

It took only a moment for Teresa to escape into the joy of the baby, so he left for Tommy's bedroom. He closed the door and dialed Michael's number.

"Hello?"

"Michael Lisbon?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"My name is Patrick Jane. I'm calling on behalf of your sister Teresa Lisb—"

"Listen, if this is about that bastard brother of mine dying in a car crash, I don't give a damn."

"No, sir, this is about the two million dollars left in an annuity trust."

Silence for about ten seconds.

"Really?"

"No, Michael. Actually, it's about your loving sister being devastated at the loss of her brothers."

The voice on the other end shouted so loudly, Patrick had to pull the phone away. "Loving sister, my ass! If she gives a shit about Tommy and his knocked-up daughter, she's as fucked up as he was. Listen, don't call this number again."

The line went dead.

_Damn_. This wasn't unexpected and it still wasn't good.

He turned to leave the bedroom to find Teresa at the open door staring, although not yet glaring nor crying.

"I could hear it from here," she said. "Not the words. The tone was enough."

"Sorry, my dear."

She shrugged and turned away. He followed her to the living room where she stopped at the computer.

"Is this the number?" she asked.

It was rhetorical, so he didn't answer. Instead he picked up Daniel and sat with him on the sofa, listening to the phone beep as she dialed.

"It's just for a little while, baby boy," he whispered, placing his arm around the child's back and holding out his finger for the tiny little hand to take.

Inside, he wished he believed it.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	17. C17 - Job Interview

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

**_Thanks to CRR for the beta read._**

**_Chapter 17_**

Waiting for the social worker sucked eggs. Patrick tried to pass the time by calling recent contacts on Tommy's phone to notify them of the fatal crash while going through Tommy's email for any loose business to be tied up. He knew it helped Teresa by giving her more time with the boy and also took the onerous task off her shoulder…

…But it still sucked eggs. _He_ wanted to spend time with the baby too. He already loved the boy not only as the promise for a future with Teresa, but also just…because.

As he ended a call with another general contractor, the doorbell rang. He looked at Teresa where she sat on the sofa holding Daniel. She looked terrorized, completely panicked.

"I'll get it," he said, rising from the kitchen table. Starting for the door, he grabbed his suit coat from the back of the computer chair, putting it on for appearances and wishing he'd kept his vest on as well. He descended the stairs with precision, using the cadence of each step to calm and tuck away his anger. After a deep breath, he opened the door.

A tall, middle-aged black woman stood in the foyer. She wore the inexpensive suit and the weary expression of a state employee, but Patrick couldn't help noticing that her eyes were kind and held a spark of caring.

"I'm Felicia Sohn with Department of Family and Children Services. I'm looking for Teresa Lisbon. Is she here?"

"Yes, ma'am. She's upstairs with Daniel. Won't you come in?"

He stepped aside and allowed her past, following her up the stairs. Midrange perfume, comfortable shoes, slight arthritis in her left hip. Married with teenaged children. Southern Baptist. Probably has a bachelor's degree in social work, does a lot of field work since her attaché case is well used. Likes the color yellow because it cheers her up when her job gets her down.

_And she's about to take Daniel away._

She was polite, certainly. At the top of the stairs, she knocked before entering the apartment. There was no reason for her to extend any courtesy; she had all the cards. He was impressed.

Teresa bid her to come in. Patrick followed, entering just as Teresa approached.

"Ms. Lisbon, I'm Mrs. Sohn with DCFS. You called about an orphaned child?"

"Yes, my great-nephew Daniel Vogelstein. My niece Annabeth Lisbon Vogelstein, her husband Jared, and my brother Thomas Lisbon died on… on…" She put her hand to her knitted brow trying to remember how many days had passed.

"Wednesday night," Patrick said, stepping to her side and placing his arm around her. "Teresa, please sit down." He looked at Mrs. Sohn as Teresa settled in the rocker. Then he gestured toward the sofa, indicating for her to sit. "It's been a very trying thirty-six hours, since we found out; so much to do. Everything is feeling a little unreal, to be honest."

She stared at him a moment with a puzzled expression. He smiled and offered his hand.

"My name is Patrick Jane. I work with Ms. Lisbon at the California Bureau of Investigation and I'm a family friend to Tommy and Annie."

"Ah! Nice to meet you, Mr. Jane," she said, shaking with him. "I read about you as well."

He resisted looking at Teresa in surprise although he could practically feel her stare. Mrs. Sohn continued.

"Part of our research into any case naturally involves a simple internet search. The hits from Ms. Lisbon are dominated with stories of Red John and the California Bureau of Investigation's efforts to catch him."

"Yes, well, I hope it didn't mention that parking ticket I got last month," he smiled charmingly.

It worked; Mrs. Sohn smiled sincerely.

"No, everything was very positive. If anyone is qualified to serve as temporary guardian, it seems the hearing would deem it to be Ms. Lisbon."

Patrick looked at Teresa who looked a little puzzled.

"How does it work here in—"

Daniel coughed and she stopped to look at the baby. The social worker smiled and sat on the sofa, setting her briefcase on the table.

"There's some paperwork to fill out and then I'll take him to a foster home that specializes in infant care. If you wish to regain guardianship, we can schedule a hearing on Monday to give you legal temporary guardianship, unless the father's parents apply. How do they feel about caring for him?"

"I haven't been in contact with them at all. I've been searching for a phone number, but there doesn't seem to be anything in Annie's phone lists. Not even in her phone."

"What about a will?"

"I…"

Teresa looked helplessly at him. He was starting to get a little worried about the flashes of panic in her eyes and how overwhelmed she was by everything. It was going to break her, he could tell. Either she was going to explode in a fit of rage or collapse in a ball of tears.

"We're still searching for official disposition of property," Patrick answered. "Mostly we've concentrated on making arrangements for burials and contacting family and business associates."

"And taking care of Danny Boy."

Teresa's interjection scored points. Patrick could read in the shift in her body language how pleased Sohn was.

"Well…his _aunt's_ been taking care of him for the most part. I'm all thumbs when it comes to babies. Typical silly man. I tried to feed him steak last night before she stopped me."

The social worker laughed, tripping up Teresa's inclination to stare. She laughed as well. "You've been a very big help, Patrick."

"Well, thank you. Better a help than a hindrance."

"And he did _not_ try to give steak to the baby," she assured Mrs. Sohn. "In fact, he showed me—"

"Forgive my rudeness, Mrs. Sohn," Patrick interrupted. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Milk? I'm afraid we don't have any tea."

"Water, thank you."

"How about you, _Lisbon_? Coffee?"

She gaped at the use of their work names, but he had used his 'work with me' expression enough times for her to know when to go along with him. That's why they worked so well as partners; they read each other easily.

Well, he read her, anyway. She was still working on reading him.

"Uh…yeah. Thank you, Jane."

"Tell Mrs. Sohn how you've finally convinced me to help with diaper changes." He mugged for the social worker, briefly holding his nose as he headed for the kitchen. "Thank God she's so patient with me."

"Well, it's good of you to help," Mrs. Sohn said.

Patrick hurried to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, wanting to get back before Teresa had another attack of 'honesty mouth'.

"It must be quite a _job_, _interviewing_ all these people to care for babies," Patrick said, opening the bottle for her and handing it over. "Oh! Do you need a glass?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Jane. I'm fine."

"Although I imagine people are always on their best behavior for these things. You probably never find yourself in the middle of family arguments or stuck between feuding partners, just likeable people like Ms. Lisbon who wants what's best for the baby."

"You'd be surprised at the situations I find myself in, Mr. Jane."

"Oh….Well, that's true. Ms. Lisbon and I are agency, too. Dealing with the public can be a challenge, to be sure. You don't see people at their best. It's always nice to catch a break and have things go smoothly."

He looked at Teresa. There was a spark of recognition in her eyes. His point that this was a job interview for her and she needed to build a rapport wasn't lost.

"Your coffee will be right up, my…" _No, not 'dear'. We're co-workers. Lisbon's the responsible one here._ "…word, yes. I almost forgot to bring it."

"Thanks, Jane. Mrs. Sohn, could you explain a little bit about the process here in Illinois? Being law enforcement in California, I understand how Child Protective Services does things, but it may be different here."

_Yep, that's my Lisbon!_ He thought as he turned back to the kitchen. _Smart as a whip._

* * *

**_To be continued...although not as quickly as the last three chapters. I need to write them first! They're still in outline form._**


	18. C18 - Admissions

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for beta reading this and all the other chapters. Go check out CRR's hysterically funny Mentalist piece "Good Minions Are So Hard To Find These Days" _**

**_Chapter 18_**

Holding his tongue for the rest of the interview was difficult, but somehow Patrick managed to for the sake of Teresa and the baby. In reality, he was on the verge of pleading out loud for both Teresa and Felicia Sohn to reconsider.

Especially when the caseworker picked up Daniel and his diaper bag.

The color drained from Teresa's face so he took her hand, hoping she could feel how much he wanted to be there for her.

"I'm going to walk Mrs. Sohn to her car," he whispered. "Stay here and try to relax."

A tiny shudder wracked her small frame and she removed her hand.

"No. Jane, I'm all right. We…I have to get ready to go to O'Malley's Funeral Home. I-I have an appointment at five-thirty."

She stood so he did as well. As she passed in front of him on her way to the bedrooms, he placed a gentle, reassuring touch on her shoulder and watched her longingly until she disappeared around the corner. Then he turned back to Mrs. Sohn as she headed toward the door.

"Let me help you with those things."

He slipped his coat on and took the diaper bag from her shoulder.

* * *

At her car two blocks down, Mrs. Sohn transferred Daniel to her car seat and took the bag from Patrick's hand.

"Mr. Jane, I need to make two observations that I suspect you'll deny."

If they were the sort of thing that could make noise, Patrick's walls of emotional self-preservation would have clanged as they shut.

"Me, Mrs. Sohn?"

"You, Mr. Jane. First, you're wrong to not trust us to take care of this child. We do our best to take good care of the children in our custody. Why would you think otherwise?"

When cornered, Patrick pulled out his special disarming smile that hid a lack of confidence. He found it on his lips, arriving there automatically.

"I don't think otherwise. Why would _you_ think that?"

"Experience. Like a child of an alcoholic often recognizes other children of alcoholics, I _know_ when someone I'm talking to has been through the system."

_Okay, this woman is good._ He never suspected he was being read like he was reading her.

"Yes…Mrs. Sohn…as a lad, I… spent time in protective services and in short-term foster care. It wasn't some of the more pleasant memories of my childhood."

"And yet here you are, a successful detective with elite California law enforcement."

"Eventually I arrived here. But to have traveled a different road to get here, a less painful one, would have been welcome."

Her intense stare of him waivered and broke.

"The deaths by Red John, particularly the murders of your family."

"That's some of it. There are a lot of things I wished were different. We always hope the children of the world have a better life than we endured."

"Yes, Mr. Jane. It's the primary reason I pursued this career."

"Well, you seem qualified to do your job, and obviously Teresa and I have no choice but to have faith in you… and the system."

_Damn it, I just called her 'Teresa'._

"So…what is this other observation that I'm inclined to deny?"

"How much you care for Ms. Lisbon."

At that moment, he realized why he had liked Felicia Sohn from the moment he'd opened the door. She reminded him of his friend Madeline Hightower; smart, direct and above all, compassionate.

"Well… of course I care for her. We've been through a lot together over the years. But you must understand that we're not together. You know… like a couple."

"If Daniel should come back into her custody, even on a temporary basis, be aware that the adjustment period will be stressful."

He suppressed his smile but she seemed to see it anyway, despite the waning light of the setting sun.

"Yes, I understand you both know the true meaning of high stress, but a needy infant is a whole different ballgame."

"I've…"

He stopped himself, causing her to laugh.

"Yes, Mr. Jane, I know you have experience with babies. When Ms. Lisbon was filling out the forms and you were holding Daniel, it was quite clear that you've spent time taking care of a child. I'm assuming it was with your own daughter."

There was no point in hiding the truth at that point.

"Yes, I remember how to tend to a baby, and I've been very happy to give Teresa a hand. We both love Daniel very much."

Mrs. Sohn nodded, going around to the driver's seat.

"And each other too, I'm guessing. I just hope you both know what you're in for when it comes to bringing up baby…if you get him back, that is. Even on a temporary basis. Goodbye, Mr. Jane. Good luck to you both."

She got into the car and closed the door before he could thank her. As he picked up the empty car seat and watched her pull out of the parking spot, he wondered if he was losing his touch. Taking the baby away really hurt, and his usual glib tongue seemed equipped with a two-second delay now.

He started walking briskly toward the apartment and had almost arrived, when he finally absorbed what she said, causing him to freeze, almost mid-stride.

_Wait, what? 'Each other'?_

"Jane!" Lisbon called.

He looked up to where she stood on the porch of the two-flat. "Coming."

"We need to get to the funeral home. You ready?"

"Nearly," he said, loping toward her. "Just a couple things and then we can go."

He climbed the stairs, shaking his head.

_Each other. Baby Daniel and each other._

"We're gonna be late, so let's go," she said as he reached the top.

He took her in a big bear hug, causing a soft yelp.

"Teresa Lisbon, one of these days you're going to learn that there are some people you keep waiting. The funeral director is one of them."

"Oh, ha-ha," she said flatly. "Just come on, already."

* * *

The time at the funeral home was an emotional drain for both of them. It didn't take long for Teresa to face the fact that she couldn't afford the price of two funerals at eight thousand dollars each, and she refused to allow Patrick to loan her the cash. They couldn't really discuss it in front of the funeral director, but he suspected she knew that his emergency money was gained through card-counting in Reno, something she objected to on principal despite it being perfectly legal.

In the end, she ordered both bodies cremated and placed in lovely urns. As near as she and Patrick could tell, there weren't crowds of people interested in attending a visitation, but Teresa agreed to a half-day wake the next morning with an afternoon mass in St. Michael's on the Hill Church. To Patrick, the whole thing felt like an elaborate gag to bilk the grieving of their money, but he kept his mouth shut. By the time all the decisions had been made, Teresa was trembling with suppressed emotion, and all Patrick wanted was to get her out of there.

And his thoughts kept returning to Daniel; wondering if his foster mother was taking good care of him, worrying if she was changing him often enough, hoping Daniel's bottle was just the right temperature and that he was being burped properly.

They hit a drive-through place for dinner and returned to the apartment with greasy sandwiches and sodas in paper cups, all of which eventually ended up in the trash, half-consumed.

He was getting seriously worried about Teresa. Since her panicky reaction to Mrs. Sohn's arrival, she'd grown quieter and more pale, as though her very life were draining away. It was evident to him that she was having doubts about Daniel going with DCFS, and now all the talk about the costs of the funeral was reminding her of the expenses associated with the time off and the trip itself. As a Senior Agent, she made a decent wage, although compared to what he had as a fake psychic, it seemed a laughable amount. What he made as a consultant was even less but obviously he was never in it for the money. Besides, his expenses as a transient nomad were nothing next to hers in her established, well-ordered life.

After throwing away most of her meal, she turned on the television and sat on the sofa, staring blankly.

"I'm going to have to shut down his cable too," she said softly, he assumed to him. "And his electric. And the gas. And his phones." She sighed heavily. "And pay off all the bills."

"Really?" he asked.

"Of course!" Her voice cracked as she snapped. "I'm responsible. I need to see that this stuff is done."

He stood up from where he was going through the file cabinet, looking for life insurance papers or a will.

"Teresa, just take this one step at a time." Sitting next to her, he took her hand in his. "First you need to give yourself a moment to catch your breath. It's been emotional these few days, but this afternoon especially."

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes. Yes, it's been terrible."

_Just a little push should break the dam. It will do her some good if she can let some of this go._

"I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time about calling DCFS. I… I know I once mentioned that I had been in Child Protective Custody. Well… it was more than once. Several times, actually. It started when my… mother had a nervous breakdown and left me in a Laundromat in Waterloo, Illinois, just across the river from Saint Louis." He paused, thinking of that day, so many years before.

"How old were you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Three, I think. It's my earliest memory."

"Three years old?"

"It's one of the reasons I have such phenomenal recall now, I think. One of the caretakers was trying to get me to stop crying the first night I was there. He told me to forget my mother and that I should just go to sleep. I remember vowing to never forget her. Until I passed out with exhaustion, I memorized everything I could about her."

"So what happened to your mother?"

"My mother? Well…my father came to get me the next day, telling me she was gone forever. A few days later, however, she caught up to the show which had moved on from Monroe County, Illinois, and into Missouri. The Jefferson County fairgrounds, perhaps, or somewhere else nearby. I was too young to understand at the time, but I believe now that she'd been hospitalized and then escaped to return to the show."

Then Patrick realized what he was doing and stood up. This was supposed to be about Teresa Lisbon, not his pathetic, screwed-up childhood.

"I'm going to get a glass of water. I'll be right back."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	19. C19 - Reversals

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

_**Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for beta reading this and all the other chapters. Go check out CRR's hysterically funny Mentalist piece "Good Minions Are So Hard To Find These Days"**_

* * *

**_Chapter 19_**

He'd reached the doorway into the kitchen when she called him back. Turning to face her, he was struck dumb by her expression. It was a mix of nausea, confusion and straight out mourning.

"When you were taken… to protective services…? Uhm…how many times did that happen?"

"Four times," he answered honestly.

"Was it voluntarily?"

It was a strange question, leaving him at a loss on how to answer.

"I'm sorry," she said, dropping her head forward. "What I meant was… were you ever put there by someone in your family? Were you ever surrendered?"

Ah! Yes, the guilt portion of this whole situation. He moved closer, stooping in an effort to look into her eyes.

"Teresa, you did the right thi—"

"Patrick!... Did your family ever give you up?"

He heaved a sigh and straightened, shaking his head.

"No, my dear. Except when my mom left me that one time, I was taken as an endangered minor when my parents got into fights… although often it was a case of the local…constabulary… being a little heavy-handed with the carnie folks. To my recollection, there had been no need to remove me. My carnie family would have protected me from physical abuse, had there been need."

She sighed. "Leave it to a Lisbon to abandon a family member."

His heart wrenched at the pain in her voice, causing his knees to buckle, and he sank down onto the sofa next to her. For the first time ever, he empathized with her about feeling guilt. Just as he knew he'd let down his family, she was feeling like she'd let down Annie and Tommy by not joyfully burdening herself with the hard work, heartache and expense of dealing with a baby. She probably even blamed herself for James and Michael for being such assholes. He knew his Teresa; she always put it on herself, even though she was right to follow her heart which had complete faith in law and order.

"That's why you panicked when Mrs. Sohn finally arrived," he said. "You are having second thoughts. I guessed that was part of it, but I figured it was only my wishful thinking."

"Wishful thinking?"

Her gaze rose to his, her expression now confused as well as pained.

"Nothing, my dear Teresa. Never mind. But I will tell you, if you get asked to become the temporary guardian of Daniel, just remember that you can count on me to help you any way I can. I love that boy too, just like you do. You're not alone. Whether it's financial or baby-sitting duties or just someone to punch when some social worker pisses you off, I'll be here to help."

Apparently the idea of punching him pleased her because she laughed a little.

"I think my days of punching you are over," she said ruefully. "In fact, they never should have started, no matter how frustrating you can be. It's just abuse."

"Oh…I've deserved every one of them… oh, except that one in Placer County that time, when we were investigating a local sheriff for the murder of his girlfriend and her daughter. I'm certain I hadn't done anything to warrant the bruise on my arm the next day…"

She stared off a moment and then looked at him in hurt shock.

"I…I remember that. It was an accident. I swung at the sheriff when he tried to hit Van Pelt, but I missed." Then she remembered more. "And I apologized for that!"

"Big bruise… the size of a grapefruit, I'd guess…"

"Patrick, that's not fair. C'mon! You know it wasn't my fault. You can't blame me for that."

He smiled gently at her a moment and shrugged. "Why not?" He gestured, indicating their place on the sofa and in the apartment. "You're trying to blame yourself for all this, even though it's not your fault."

Her mouth dropped open as she absorbed his meaning. Once again her eyes brimmed but finally the dam broke. He put his arm around her and she collapsed against his chest.

Finally!

He placed his cheek against her soft hair and lifted her arm, encouraging her to hold him in return, almost desperate to maximize the help he could be. Would she allow it? Would she let someone else into her pain and take the burden from her soul? He doubted it…

Until she slid both arms around him and cried harder.

"I-I wish I could take him, Patrick! I wish I didn't abandon him like he was puppy I took to the shelter. He's…he's my _family_, but I'm too old to…"

"Teresa, you did the right thing. The law says—"

"The law!" she yelled, pushing away enough to look at him. Tears continued to slip down her face, dripping over her lips, past her clenched teeth. "Sometimes the law is a cold, heartless bitch!"

Then she collapsed again and mumbled, "Just like me."

He tightened his hug around her and rocked a little.

"You are _not_ a heartless bitch, my dear lady. You're one of the sweetest, kindest, most caring women I've ever met, and I love—"

_Too far, Jane. She doesn't need any further complications right now._

"I love that you remain strong after you've given your entire heart away in sacrifice for another." He shifted on the sofa, reclining into the corner, pulling her with him. "Just let it all out, Teresa. Pour it all out onto me and let peace take its place."

With a gentle hand, he traced circles over her back. The pace of his deep, steady breathing was picked up by her on a subconscious level, and she began to match it. She cried herself out and relaxed his embrace. Soon he was certain she was asleep.

What a strange situation! His occasional fantasy of having Teresa Lisbon asleep in his arms had come true, but because of circumstances, it was now the last thing he wanted for her.

Gently he caressed her hair and kissed the crown of her head.

_Anything you need, Teresa. Anything at all._

* * *

He let her sleep for two hours or so while he watched classic movies on television. When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, she let out a small hum of contentment before giving him a slight squeeze. Then she jerked upright, blinking in surprise.

"Hey."

She looked at him and half-smiled in confusion. "Hey," she said in return, relaxing.

"It's late, Teresa. Maybe you should go to bed."

With a heavy sigh, she leaned against the sofa and dropped her head back against the cushion.

"If I can sleep."

"Let me put you in a trance to get you started."

Again she looked at him and again she sighed.

"I may take you up on it," she said, rising to her feet.

"Let me know," he said, resting his arm along the back of the sofa and continuing to watch the TV.

For the next few minutes, he heard her shuffling from the kitchen to the bedroom into the bathroom and then into the bedroom. Ten or so minutes later, she came out wearing her jersey and leggings, looking irritated. When he met her gaze, she shrugged and gestured toward the bedroom. He nodded and followed her.

Before she climbed into bed, he took her shoulder and turned her, drawing her into a loving hug.

"Things will look better tomorrow, my dear."

"At a funeral," she said.

"You're right. That was a foolish thing to say. Sorry."

She squeezed him and then released him all together. "No, I'm sorry. I know you're just being supportive." She climbed into bed and brought the covers up. "And I'm being ungrateful."

"You're fine," he said, sitting on the bed after she settled in. "Try to relax."

It was easy to put her into trance, having done so before. He gave a post-hypnotic suggestion to not awaken until he tapped on her door, and then he returned to the living room.

At the computer he did a search on the nearest riverboat casino, grabbed his coat and the car keys. Time to resolve Lisbon's financial issues.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	20. C20 - Second Sight

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

**_Thank you, Cumberland River Relic, for your feedback. The tweaks were perfect._**

**_Chapter 20_**

Teresa opened her eyes, looking at the unfamiliar blue hue of the room, not recognizing where she was. The morning light was wrong for her bedroom. Where was she?

There was a soft tap, and she rose up onto one elbow.

_Annie and Jared's room. I'm in Chicago._ A dull ache came to her chest. No matter how surreal it _seemed_, the situation was her new reality. At the moment she just wanted it to go away.

"Lisbon?"

"Yeah, Jane, come in, I'm up."

The door opened and Jane stuck his head in cautiously. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. What time is it?"

"A quarter to seven. I know you didn't want to sleep too late, but I think you really need to."

She threw back the covers while shaking her head. "I'll catch up when this is all over, Jane. We have to be at O'Malley's at 8:30."

"Good thing it's close." He opened the door, revealing that he was fully dressed in his best black suit and light blue collared shirt. "How do you want your eggs? I do 'scrambled-overeasy' pretty well."

"You don't need to make me anything."

"Yep, you're right, but you know me. If we don't do things my way, I'll have a tantrum."

The playful tone in his voice made her look at him. The spark in his eye looked like he was auditioning for the part of Huck Finn. What a twinkle!

"Weellll,…no tantrums, Patrick. Just for you, I'll come and have some scrambled eggs this morning. Although if you can make 'em scrambled-hard, I'd appreciate it. And toast? I saw some bread in the freezer."

"Strawberry or grape jelly?"

"Strawberry."

"Coming right up."

He winked and withdrew, closing the door.

Again her heart ached. Why couldn't she meet a guy who made her feel as special as Patrick did? It seemed like every guy she'd dated the past ten years – and sadly, there weren't that many – made her feel like he was afraid she was going to pull a gun on him or like she might _have_ to pull a gun by the end of the evening. She needed someone who could make her laugh even when she felt like the whole world was against her. Wasn't there anyone out there who was in need of a friend but had more personality than a paper bag full of wet newspapers?

Of course, she'd been seeing Patrick, kinda on dates, but…well, he was just her friend.

She sighed and crossed to the dresser where her suitcase had been placed and unzipped. She couldn't remember setting it up there; her pajamas had been in her overnight bag.

_Must have been Patrick. That was nice of him._

Of course, he probably did it to stay out of her hair while she was taking care of Daniel. "Auntie in training" so to speak. Funny how alike they were sometimes. How often did she get frustrated because she wanted to practice something alone in order to master it? He was the same way, although generally that magnificent brain of his didn't need as much time as hers did.

It was probably a struggle for him not to interfere, though. One thing was agreed; he was a meddler, especially when it came to things he cared for. And he really cared about Daniel. There was no mistaking it.

She leaned against the dresser, holding herself up. Why was he being so nice about her bull-headed, blinkered adherence to the law? He tried to tell her that it could have waited. It _should_ have waited! At least Daniel would have had the weekend in the care of someone who loved him, right about the time he would start feeling the loss of no longer feeling his mother's loving arms around him.

"Oh, God!" she yelled, breaking down again. "What have I done to poor Daniel?"

She collapsed to the floor sobbing, pounding against the draw-fronts with the side of her fist. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her to her feet long enough to get to the bed again. She leaned against Patrick's shoulder, crying for God to tell her what to do, begging for it all to be over, begging for it to never have happened to begin with.

"Why? Why? He's just a little baby, Patrick!"

"I know, sweet lady. It's not your fault. It will work out. Give it time. Daniel will be all right."

He began to rock her gently, shushing her and squeezing her in brief hugs.

"I have to get him back, Patrick. He needs someone who loves him." She pulled from his arms and stared at him. "Help me get him back!"

"Teresa, the hearing is at 8:30 on Monday morning. You'll get him back then."

"But he's so little! He needs us to care for him."

"Mrs. Sohn put him in a home that will protect him completely," he assured her, running his hand down her arm.

"How do you know?" she yelled.

"Oh, you know how, sweet lady. I can spot a liar from a dozen yards. Besides, Daniel is a beautiful baby. His foster mom will have no choice but to fall madly in love with him and care for him like he is her own."

How she wanted to believe him! Sniffling, struggling, she stared into his eyes, realizing they were glassy with tears.

"Do _you_ believe that?"

"I do." He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and hugged her again. "And you do too. It will be all right. You know that."

Then he released her completely and brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Why don't you shower? You'll feel better when you get out. I'll hold off on breakfast until you're ready to eat."

She stared at him a moment and then nodded.

"Stay strong a little longer," he said, standing and running his hand over her arm again. "Two short days."

_Two short days. I can last two days._

"And we'll spend all day Sunday looking for Tommy's will. It's here somewhere."

"How do you know he has one?"

For once he looked a little unsure. "I don't exactly _know_…but he was a new grandfather. I'm sure it changed his view of mortality."

Then to her astonishment, the uncertainty disappeared in a flash and he was his usual cocky, bold self. "C'mon, get into the shower. Otherwise we'll only have time for instant oatmeal, and neither of us wants that."

Despite herself, she smiled at the image of Patrick Jane eating oatmeal. The expression of disgust was very funny.

"That's my strong lady."

He turned and headed for the door.

"Thank you, Patrick."

He waved without looking, passing through the door.

She lowered her head and clasped her hands. _Thank you, God, for sending Patrick to me._

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	21. C21 - Punish the Innocent

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

_**Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for beta reading this and all the other chapters. Go check out CRR's hysterically funny Mentalist piece "Good Minions Are So Hard To Find These Days"**_

* * *

**_Chapter 21 _**

For Teresa, the worst part of the wake was the display of flowers.

Two metal cremation urns, both silver with burnished gold accents, sat side-by-side on a white-clothed table. Flanking them were two undersized arrangements of flowers that she felt impelled by the funeral home to order.

_Lilies of all things_. She'd hated them since her mother's funeral in that very viewing parlor. The feeling was reinforced in another parlor of that same building after her dad died six years later.

Her mother never hated flowers. If anything, she was a master gardener, having taken the poor soil around their Emerald Avenue home and turning it into flower patches that were the envy of the street. She had a touch, a unique ability to make a spot of loveliness in the dull, lower-middle class neighborhood.

Teresa tried to keep it up, remembering everything her mom had taught her about gardening, but it soon became clear that she'd never manage it. At first she blamed herself for not having the skill, but then she realized that caring for her brothers and her increasingly infirmed father simply didn't allow the time needed to care for it. Painful though it was, she allowed the weeds to take over, strangling the remaining joy from flowers out of Teresa's heart.

Patrick's light sigh brought her out of her brown study, and she looked at him as he sat next to her. By the look in his eyes, it seemed he was miles away.

And years. Probably back to his own history with a double funeral.

She leaned toward him, slipping her hand onto his knee.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

His eyes widened ever so slightly and the corner of his mouth turned up.

"Much better," he said, placing his hand atop hers. "I was just thinking of all the funerals and memorial services we've attended together over the years, relating to cases and whatnot."

Such a sad thought. As good as his memory was, he was probably remembering every last one of them, whereas she probably only recalled barely a third. It was still a lot.

"It seems different when it's for your own," she said.

He shrugged and clasped his fingers around her hand. "I don't see much difference. I didn't feel much comfort from those who attended Angela and Charlotte's burials, and I can't say that anyone has ever been glad to see me at theirs."

The man was exasperating. He was still completely unaware of the good he did in the world.

"Well, I'm glad you're here, anyway. I don't think I could do all this alone."

He removed his hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"You'd do fine," he said, giving her a squeeze. He stood and looked around the empty room. "I'm going to get a cup of tea. Can I bring you something?"

She pulled out her cellphone and checked the clock.

"Father Barnes will be here in fifteen minutes. I probably shouldn't start a cup of coffee."

Something pulled his gaze from hers and he stared toward the entrance to the room. A smirk spread onto his face.

"The professional mourners are here," he said softly. "There go all the cookies."

Teresa looked over to a group of little old church ladies entering the room, headed by none other than Lily MacGyver.

"Go turn on the charm, Patrick. Get 'em to buy you a cup of tea."

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe I can find myself a rich bride."

She winced in reply. "And here I was hoping you'd stay out of trouble."

"You should keep your expectations low," he said, walking away.

She let him go without another word, appreciating how dull the morning probably had been for him. It was for her. Since the visitation period had begun at nine that morning, there had been only about a dozen people, mostly contractors who had worked with Tommy over the years. There had also been one of Annie's instructors from college and two of her fellow students. They asked about Daniel, forcing her to explain about being required to surrender him to DCFS until a legal guardian could be assigned. Only by Patrick placing a firm hand on her lower back did she find the strength to hold back tears.

She looked at the urns again.

_I'm doing my best, guys. I'm doing my very best._

Glaring at the small vases of flowers on either side, she felt her jaw tighten with her sudden resolve.

_And I will love flowers again, dammit. Even lilies._

"Ms Lisbon?"

Teresa looked up. Mrs. Sohn stood a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her.

"I just wanted to come by and pay my respects. And also update you on Daniel's grandparents."

Grandparents? Promptly Teresa stood and smoothed her clothing. "Yes…uhm, why don't you come to the lounge so we… we can… talk."

* * *

When she last met Felicia Sohn, Teresa was full of churning emotions. Mostly she wanted to leave a good impression with the caseworker, letting her know that she was a loving person in an impossible situation, hoping it would be clear that she wasn't a bad person for giving Daniel up to the state care system. It had been unnerving but she got through it.

Now the weight of the situation crushed her like a granite wall falling on her, and she almost stuttered in response to Sohn's question about how she was doing.

"Fine. We're… doing okay….Still looking for life insurance or a will for my brother."

"And the Vogelsteins' as well."

Teresa stared a moment. "Annie's inlaws?"

"No, Annabeth and Jared's. Records show they recorded one, but I can't get a copy for a week or so. If you can find their copy by the hearing on Monday, Daniel's future can be settled definitely."

"What…Why would someone that young have a will?"

Doubt crossed Mrs. Sohn's face, and as she opened her mouth to answer, Jane stepped up.

"Jared's insistence. He changed his college major recently, probably after he and Annie got married."

Teresa was used to Patrick Jane's seemingly out-of-thin-air statements of so-called facts. She rolled her eyes. The social worker, on the other hand, was startled and confused.

"But…Mr. Jane, you and Ms. Lisbon said during the interviews that you didn't know what their intentions were."

"Well…I don't know exactly, but I've learned a few things. Jared's contact lens prescription was newly issued and his clothes were new. He was improving himself. Also he sent an email to his father-in-law asking if Tommy could babysit while he kept an appointment with his counselor at school. On top of that, we know they were looking to buy a house in Milwaukee, so they were planning to live in a cheaper market so he could go to school longer. The whole family went along with it. On top of that, he and Annie were studying the field of law and law enforcement, something that makes a man...thoughtful. Simply put, he was planning ahead."

"Stop showing off, Jane," she groaned.

Mrs. Sohn stared for a moment and then nodded. "That makes good sense."

"But the question is where the wills are." Patrick asked.

"No, the question is what did Jared's parents say about Daniel. Will they take him?"

The case worker heaved a sigh. "Well, I'm afraid I gained no points today for calling on the Sabbath. They were pretty upset with me either way. The truth of the matter is they didn't approve of Jared's marriage to Annie, primarily because she was an atheist. Also…"

A sour expression came over her face and she looked embarrassed.

"Really, I shouldn't say anything, but…it is looking bleak for Daniel, to be honest." She swallowed and gave a curt nod. "Jared's parents indicated that they felt he was tricked into marrying Annabeth. They don't want anything to do with Daniel because they don't believe he's their son's boy."

The next thing Lisbon remembered was Patrick fanning her face, staring at her closely. He knelt on one knee in front of her as she was sitting in a chair by the refreshment table. Hadn't she just been standing?

Something was handed to him and next she felt a cold wet towel on her wrist. She looked at it and then back at him.

"Patrick," she whispered, afraid that anything else would come out as a yell. "Why is this happening? He's just a little baby…"

"I know, my dear lady, I know."

"It's so wrong to…to…just throw him…away."

He rose from his knee and settled in the seat next to her. "We won't do that, Teresa." He glanced at Mrs. Sohn and the other people standing nearby, frustration flooding the concern off his face. "Just…just a little longer. We'll work out something that's best for him. He deserves it."

Someone thrust a bottle of water towards her. He took it and tried to put it in her hand.

"Drink this, sweet lady. You're dehydrated from…how hard this has been. Try to take care of yourself, Teresa."

What she wanted was a shot of tequila, but water would have to do. She accepted the bottle and took a drink.

"Take some more," he said, touching her hand. "I think Father Barnes arrived, so he's going to want to say a prayer over the remains before transport to the church."

She glanced at Sohn and took another sip before putting the cap back on.

"Let's go."

* * *

**To be continued…**


	22. C22 - Deeper Truth

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thank you Cumberland River Relic for beta reading Ready or Not and putting up with my seemingly endless "point-counterpoint" emails. :-) _**

* * *

**_And a big thanks to Jane Doe51 for prompting the discussion about the purpose for funerals and wakes. I too have always felt they're as much for the living as the departed._**

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**_Chapter 22_**

Teresa got a surprise at the church. Patrick not only behaved during Mass, he participated perfectly, like he'd been attending Mass as long as she had. He gave all the indicators of enjoying the service more than she and the "professional mourners" were.

She also was saddened by the fact that it _was_ only her and Patrick and the seven church ladies plus a couple of nuns in attendance. She hadn't known Annie was an atheist and felt guilty that she made arrangements not in keeping with her wishes. And what about Tommy? He was raised Catholic just like Teresa was, but had he kept his beliefs? Had Teresa done right by _him_ at least?

It was still weighing on her mind after Mass as Patrick was driving them back to the apartment.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Absolutely."

"Do…do you think…I mean…uhm…" She swallowed and tried again. "Mrs. Sohn said that Jared's parents thought Annie was an atheist. Do you think that Annie would mind that I had a church service… for her?"

"No," he said without pause.

"How are you so sure?"

"Oh…principally, because I'm an arrogant know-it-all who is sure of everything."

Despite herself, she chuckled at his self-effacing humor. "C'mon, Jane."

"Teresa, I'm sure she wouldn't mind because if she were a true atheist like I am, she'd recognize that wakes and burial services aren't for the dead; they're for the living. All this ritual and circumstance is to help those who are left behind feel better. It's part of managing grief and guilt about being lucky enough to be alive."

"Spoken like a true cynic," she scoffed.

"Seriously. Do you think that Annie would hold it against you for doing something that helps make you feel better about what has happened? She loved you very much. Everything her Aunt Reese did was all right with her."

That was true. Annabeth Lisbon had idolized "badass" Aunt Reese, and whatever Teresa chose would be okay. So what if Patrick had manipulated her thoughts like she'd seen him do with hundreds of other people? Despite knowing how he'd maneuvered her, she felt better.

A lot better.

"Okay…I can see how that might be true." Admitting it was almost as hard as stopping herself from…

She licked her lips and stopped _that_ thought. Patrick Jane was… was her supportive friend.

"Can I ask another question?"

"Fire away."

"How is it that you are so familiar with a Catholic mass?"

His obvious tell shocked her. His foot came off the accelerator briefly and his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"You don't want to know," he said. Another tell; that half-smirk on his lips said it wasn't a matter of her not wanting to know as much as his not wanting to say.

"I do, actually."

He glanced in the car's mirrors and then pulled over in the first available parking spot along the street. After throwing the car into park, he stared out the windshield for a few moments.

"I'd prefer the truth," she said.

His gaze shifted to her briefly as he nodded. "Okay, the truth it is. It probably won't surprise you, but you may think less of me for the callousness and villainy. I don't want you to, but you probably will."

"You're avoiding answering me."

"I used to find clients that way," he said, racing through the syllables of all the words. He looked down, staring at his hands on the steering wheel. A deep breath seemed to curb the pace. "First my father and I, then Angela and I. Well… Angela helped me once and couldn't stomach it. So really, it was me."

"Clients?"

He met her gaze again, his eyes reflecting deep, blackened-soul shame.

"I…would attend wakes and funerals to learn about the recently deceased, record everything I could learn and then wait ten to twelve months before contacting a loved one with 'a message'. Strictly by 'accident', I'd run into them on the street or in the store or whatnot. I'd prove my powers with facts picked up at the funeral. I had a whole calendar set up, scheduling what city or town I needed to be in. It was all very complex. Often it paid off monetarily, but sometimes it was just a way to gain in my reputation as a psychic. Once I had made a name for myself, I…well, it wasn't necessary any longer.

"But until then, I attended a lot of funerals and became well-versed in a lot of ceremonies for a lot of different religions."

She gaped at him, stunned into silence, freezing further when tears began to well in his eyes.

"But you know I'm not… proud of that gag. I don't consider it particularly clever. It was a crude means to a crude end. I justified the cruelty of it as necessary to please my father, and after Angela and I left the show, I needed to put food on the table. Like a cheetah, being quicker than her prey and doing what was necessary to live another day. At the time, it's what I knew until I refined my cold-reading techniques."

She'd never seen him follow along any memorial service they'd ever attended together for work, assuming it was because of his atheism. Or just stubbornness.

Now she knew it was his Achilles' heel about his previous career as a fake psychic. It was the tremendous remorse even beyond his belief that he'd caused the deaths of his wife and daughter, his guilty conscience on a level that she had never suspected.

Before even thinking about it, she reached over and took his hand.

"You're a good man now, Patrick Jane. Beneath all your great talents, you are a very good, very caring man."

A lone tear slid down his cheek until his iron control clamped the loose ends back into place. She could see it in a thousand subtle ways. Briefly he looked at her with renewed determination.

"Teresa Lisbon, if anything good is ever produced from my existence, it all comes back to your faith in me."

He sniffled once and checked the side mirror. Then he put the rental car into gear and hit the signal. After pulling back into traffic, he didn't look at her again, nor did he speak.

Feeling awkward, she spent a while staring out at the vaguely familiar streetscape they were passing by. Chicago's neighborhoods were unique, each with its own ethnic feel and character, but Bridgeport was special to her. It was _home_. Living in California was great, but sometimes she missed the old neighborhood, her stomping grounds while growing up.

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"You just gave the most heartfelt sigh."

This time she was conscious of the second sigh. "I was just thinking of how comfortable this place used to be. They say you can never go home, but this mostly looks how I remember it all."

"Do you want to go past the house where you grew up?"

She looked at his eager expression and then around the street to gage exactly where they were.

"Make a left at the corner," she said, pointing.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	23. C23 - Home & Heart

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

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**_Thank you, Cumberland River Relic! Time is a precious thing, and I appreciate you spending your time acting as beta reader._**

* * *

**_Chapter 23_**

Patrick watched Teresa as her stare never wavered from the house they stopped in front of. She climbed out of the SUV and stood on the sidewalk. After shutting off the engine, he joined her.

"So this is the legendary abode where the mighty Agent Lisbon grew up."

She looked at him and blinked. Then she smiled and said, "Renowned for its plainness."

"I'm sure the city will put a plaque up soon," he teased.

He looked over the two-story frame structure situated on a corner lot. It was well-tended despite its apparent age. Unlike the other lots on the house-crowded street, this had a side yard. It contained evidence of a summer garden, now brown and dried in the November chill. The current residents who lived there cared a lot for the place. Some of the yard ornaments were faded and looked permanent while next to them were new additions. Patrick guessed the people owned the property for a long while, having started their family there. There were current indicators of elementary school-aged children.

"So when was the last time you were here?" he asked.

It took a while for her to respond. At first she didn't hear him through her thoughts, but pain came to her eyes as she considered her answer. "About three months after my dad died."

He moved a little closer.

"Couldn't afford the mortgage," he said softly.

"Yes." Her voice cracked on the single word. "My brothers and I moved into a basement apartment in a building my second cousin owned south of here. I was grateful to have someplace safe to take the boys. Otherwise…" She stopped.

_Otherwise, you all would have been homeless. But I bet your brothers didn't appreciate what you did for them, how you were taking care of them. They resented that you couldn't reproduce the life they had when your mother was alive. They took you for granted._

He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.

_Like I used to._

"So…does it look anything like what it did when you lived here?"

She squeezed his hand and smiled a little.

"Pretty much the same. The vinyl siding is new to me. It was blue, painted clapboard when I lived here." She gestured toward the side yard. "Looks like they're taking good care of the yard."

Releasing his hand, she leaned against the fence and examined the garden.

"They love living here," he said, joining her.

She nodded, starting to speak but then changing her mind.

"You're lucky to have some good memories," he said in a moment. "My childhood home was a rickety airstream most of the time and a thin-walled mobile home in California during the winter."

Her brow knit and she looked at him squarely.

"Patrick? Can I ask an odd question?"

"Sure."

"What's going on with you? Why are you…?" Embarrassment stopped her but was replaced by resolve. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm just curious. Why are you suddenly being so open with me? You never used to talk about your life before… before CBI."

He didn't like the mirror she was holding up to him, and his glib answer came without thought.

"Ah, Agent Lisbon, you just can't let a mystery go unsolved, can you?"

He got the reaction he wanted which was a smile. It gave him a moment to consider the real answer.

"Teresa, I…to be honest, I've been afraid to be open with anyone… since Angela died. I needed help but why would anyone help a scoundrel like I am? She knew who and what I was when we met, and somehow…she managed to find a place in her heart for me. That took some doing."

The color drained from her face as she met his gaze. If he was honest with himself, she looked a little upset.

"But…why are you being so honest with me now?"

He pursed his lips, trying to decide whether she was in denial or if she just needed to hear it.

Instead he took her in his arms and kissed her, tenderly capturing her sweet lips in what he hoped expressed his deep affection for her. She stiffened within his embrace at first and then slipped her arms into his coat, drawing into him.

Should he tell her? Was he being selfish by even implying what she means to him? She was on the verge of becoming the mother to a child she didn't give birth to after losing people dear to her, just like when her mother and then her father died. This repeat of history wasn't fair. Was it making things worse to confuse things, declaring that he loved her?

Her hands slid over the back of his vest, accompanied by a light, pleased hum. If he was waiting for her to end the kiss, he had a long wait, because instead she deepened it. Her lips parted to suck on his lower lip and then her tongue eased into his mouth. Every delicious kiss they'd ever shared paled in intensity compared to that moment.

She loved him too! He could feel what was in her heart at the moment and was certain she could feel what was in his.

"Er… excuse me!"

A woman's voice cut in, stern and reproachful. Patrick released Teresa as suddenly as she released him.

"I would like to have my children play in my yard, if you wouldn't mind."

They looked toward the front door of the house where a honey-blonde woman about their age stood glaring at them.

"We're sorry, ma'am," Teresa called out. "I-i-it won't happen again."

"Speak for yourself," Patrick murmured toward her ear. She smacked him lightly.

"Why were you looking in my yard?" the woman demanded.

"Uh…I…I used to live here…twenty-two years ago or so. I was just reminiscing about my mother's garden."

The woman's face went through a vast transformation into surprise and excitement.

"Oh! Oh! You're the policewoman from California! You caught that serial killer that everyone was looking for! Nessy was telling us about you, that you and your brothers lived here a long time ago."

"You know Mr. O'Shaughnessy?"

"Yes, oh yes! He used to live next door to us until he couldn't keep up his property by himself anymore and had to move into assisted living. He fixed up the place and sold it about six months ago. In fact…in fact, yes, it was your brother who was helping him get the repairs done. He did some stuff for my husband and me too."

Patrick felt Teresa stiffened next to him. He must have been rubbing off on her; she'd mentalized the woman's next words, a question.

"How is he doing? He was so excited about his first grandchild born earlier this year."

He put his hand on Teresa's forearm.

"My brother…died earlier this week. Wednesday night. That's why I'm in town; for his funeral."

It was evident to Patrick that the woman was truly saddened, not just responding politely. "My sincerest condolences. He was a lovely man. Loved his family very much. And he was so kind to help out Mr. O'Shaughnessy. He wouldn't take any money so Mr. O'Shaughnessy insisted on giving him his baseball memorabilia collection." She stepped over, indicating the open door. "Would you like to come in? See the place? I'm afraid we've remodeled quite a bit of it in the last ten years we've been here."

Teresa lowered her eyes sadly and then looked up at Patrick.

"Thank you for offering, but we have to get going. I'm still taking care of …uhm… no, thank you. I appreciate it."

Then she turned on her heels and walked to the car. Patrick turned to the homeowner, giving a small wave.

"Keep up the good work," he said softly. "You have a lovely home."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	24. C24 - Inevitable Conclusion

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

* * *

**_Thanks to beta reader & critique partner Cumberland River Relic! Now get cracking on your new story "I Remember You". Can't wait until you start posting it! (That was a non-subtle, nay, BLATANT push.)_**

* * *

**_I will be taking a few days break as I need to go out of town for a while. Chapter 25 will go up when I return. Sorry for any inconvenience the delay causes._**

* * *

**_Chapter 24_**

On the way to the apartment, Teresa insisted they stop at her favorite pizza place for a 16" thin crust pepperoni to go.

While Patrick poured a couple of beers and set out plates, Teresa changed from her black suit into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Patrick was glad she was seeking some ease for herself, even if it was little stuff like comfort food and soft clothing.

As she collapsed lightly on the couch and tied back her hair, he opened the pizza box.

"This better be as good as you promised," he teased, handing her a paper towel as a napkin.

She grunted as if in relief and put some pieces on her plate. "It's _Home Run Inn_ pizza," she scoffed. "Let the tourists have Pizzeria Uno or Lou Malnati's. This is the true Southsider's pizza, man. Right down the street from the old Comiskey Park."

Then she shoved a corner of a slice in her mouth, followed by closing her eyes and groaning in delight.

"You do love your pizza," he said with a grin.

"Mm hum!" she grunted through chewing. She gestured for him to grab a piece before she leaned back to relish the flavor, not even opening her eyes.

He took a bite and nodded. It was good, no denying it. Still, he somewhat preferred the cracker-style crust of California-type pizza.

What he enjoyed most was watching her enjoy herself, forgetting her troubles for a little while.

"Needs pineapple," he quipped.

She swallowed what was in her mouth. "Hush," she said before sticking out her tongue briefly.

Still, she didn't eat much, leaving him concerned. When he commented on it, she assured him that she'd probably be eating it cold from the refrigerator all through the night.

After packing the leftovers and finishing their beers, Patrick suggested they be more systematic in their search for the wills, since up until that point they'd been looking only in the obvious places.

"Why would they hide the wills?" she asked. "If you're dead, don't you want people to find them?"

"But they _didn't_ put them where they could be found. Therefore we have to look deeper. Maybe they put them in a safe deposit box. If so, we need to find the key which they might have hidden."

"Oh, God, please not in a safe deposit box. What a hassle!"

"Yes, we'd never obtain access to it by the guardianship hearing on Monday." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them before offering to help her stand. "So! We need to be creative here. You start in the kitchen and pretend you're doing that cop thing, searching for a weapon or drugs. I'll start in the living room, pretending to be a drug dealer looking for a new place to hide my stash."

She chuckled and took his hand. After he pulled her up, he drew her directly into his arms and kissed her, this time being the one who deepened it. Just as she seemed to get lost in it with him, she tensed and withdrew. Under her breath, she murmured "safe" and stepped back.

He knew what she meant. When they were standing in front of her childhood home, there was only a small chance that things would get heated beyond control. Being in the privacy of the apartment meant that it was no longer safe to kiss like that.

And she was right. It seemed easy for him to think about running his hands over her soft body when she kissed him so passionately. It tempted him to seduce her into bed, especially after committing to memory the sight of her beautiful body in its perfect nude form. It felt right for him to want to love her physically in order to share his love for her emotionally.

"Safe?" he asked plainly. "Do you think Tommy put a safe in this apartment? That's a good thought. One of those fireproof boxes would be good for wills and birth certificates and whatnot."

She looked at him with slack jaw silence.

"But where do you think he put it? Maybe somewhere in that mess in his bedroom?"

"Uh…"

"Tell you what. Let's stick with the original plan." He stepped back, clearing a straight line path to the kitchen. "You check in there. I'll check in here."

Her fingers came to her lips as she still stared at him. Then she darted into the other room. He shook his head as he watched her disappear around the corner.

_Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon…_

He knew there was nothing in the living room, but he searched it anyway while waiting for her first discovery. Cabinet doors opened and closed; cereal boxes slid side-to-side.

"Oh my God! Jane! I mean, Patrick! Come in here!"

For appearances he rushed in, looking concerned.

She stood on a kitchen stepstool with a glass lid in her hand, staring into a well-used crockpot on top of the fridge.

"What?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

She reached in and pulled out a bundle of cash which she tossed to him before pulling out two more.

"Wow," he said, riffling through the wad of bills. "This is ten grand. Those, too?"

Swallowing hard, she put the lid on the crock and then climbed down the stepstool.

"Holy crap," she whispered. "Where do you think Tommy got this kind of cash?"

"How do you know it's Tommy's? Women are more likely than men to hide stuff in the kitchen."

For a moment she looked at him blankly, then nodded.

"Although, where would Annie get this kind of cash?" he asked. "Or Jared?" He sniffed it and then read the paper band around it. "Joliet State Bank? Where's Joliet from here?"

She looked at the money in her hands a moment before setting it on the counter. Carefully, she climbed back up the stepstool and examined the crockpot before lifting it to look at the top of the refrigerator.

_Shit._

She turned and glared at him. "You should have dusted the top of the fridge," she said. "Or at least dusted a circle under the crockpot."

He didn't look away. There was no point.

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" she demanded.

He shrugged and put the bundle of hundreds next to the others on the counter.

"I had hopes but not a lot. I was counting on the distraction of everything that's going on, hoping it would get you to accept my financial help with all this. I mean, look at it this way; you use your learned skills to make money as a cop. I don't see why using my learned skill of counting cards can't be used to help an orphaned boy."

That did it. The flicker of doubt in her eyes was enough.

"And it's not that much money. I didn't have time to hit a lot of tables."

"When did you go?"

"Last night, after you went to sleep."

Her glare broke completely as she blanched slightly. "You went all the way to Joliet? Last night? When did you sleep?"

Okay, she was really distracted if she didn't think that one through. Silly Lisbon. He opened his mouth to answer.

"You didn't, did you?" She climbed down and shook her head. "Dammit, Jane, you don't have to kill yourself over this."

He raised both eyebrows. It might be a little dangerous to add a cocky smile, so he resisted.

"Oh? Says the woman who is barely eating, sustaining herself with coffee and a stash of Five-Hour Energy stuffed in her suitcase. Are you the pot, Ms. Lisbon? Or are you the kettle in this discussion?"

Ah, guilt! She was so good at it. He watched the symptoms appear. A flush to her face as she diverted her eyes. Fidgeting with her fingers. Shifting her weight from foot to foot. He could pile on more, but there was no challenge to shooting fish in a barrel.

"You hush," she said, lightly smacking his arm.

Now he could grin. "So we both admit we're not the wisest people but we mean well."

She shrugged as she nodded. "'Road to hell' and all that, Patrick." With a despairing sigh, she looked around the kitchen. "I don't think we're going to find anything in here."

"Teresa…" he said in a low, warning tone. "Don't lose hope yet. Keep looking."

Slight exasperation came to her face. "You didn't hide more money in here, did you?"

"No, of course not."

She examined his mask of innocence and then scoffed. "I think I know you too well. The subtext is 'not in here but elsewhere'. Yes?"

No point in changing masks in the middle of the costume party. He kept his look of innocence. She threw her hands in the air and turned back to move the stepstool to the next set of cabinets.

"Fine. Don't tell me."

He turned her around and pulled her into a hug.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," he said.

She chuckled and hugged him back.

"Just keep looking for the wills," he continued. "Maybe start sorting what you want to throw away and what you want to donate."

She squeezed him once more before releasing him.

"Yes, I've been avoiding that. It makes sense to just have a charity come in and just take all this. But without knowing what's going to happen to Daniel, I don't want to give away too much stuff. I mean, it would make sense to sell some of this so Daniel's guardian gets some help with the finances."

Picking up the money from the counter, he shook it in front of her. "Teresa, there's thirty grand right here! Wherever Daniel ends up, he'll not want for anything. Make life easy for yourself. Get rid of this stuff."

"I…Patrick, you're going to think I'm nuts, but I…"

She swallowed hard. There seemed to be no more words at her disposal and she looked at him helplessly. She even seemed helpless using the helpless expression because she was so unaccustomed to being in that position.

He nodded, trying to look as reassuring as possible. "Teresa, it's obvious to me that you've decided to raise Daniel yourself, not just act as temporary guardian. I want to help however you need me."

* * *

_**To be continued. I promise!**_


	25. C25 - Internal Truth

**_Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories._**

**_Cumberland River Relic is a fine beta-reader, but really, he should be working on his next project(s)! Thanks, CRR, for your time and your help._**

**_UPDATE: go check out CRR's Welcome-To-The-Family story. How fun! You'll love it!_**

* * *

**_Chapter 25_**

Teresa gasped and stared at him.

"Really?" Patrick asked with a gentle smile. "We've known each other these eleven years and you still get surprised that I can read you?"

Her eyes started to fill even as she nodded. He drew her into another hug. Although she didn't cry, she rested her cheek against his chest and placed her arms around his waist.

"My dear lady," he whispered. "You're predictable when it comes to your family. You would never let a little thing like the complete upheaval of your life stop you from doing what's right for that boy."

She laughed in a half-strangled way and lifted her head to look at him. Despite the tears that leaked from her upturned face, she was smiling.

"I _know_," he said. "You love Daniel as much as you loved Annie. And I've already told you that I'll be there with anything you need." He couldn't help but grin as he shared his next thought. "Even if I have to hit every Indian casino and riverboat between here and Sacramento to raise money for his college fund."

She laughed and buried her face in his chest again.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this, Patrick, but I have to."

"The answer is right there in front of you," he said aloud. _Me. I'm the answer. Use me like I used you for so many thankless years. You deserve any help you ask for and every bit that is offered._

"I…I suppose… I could put in for a transfer to…to a different unit. Like…cyber-crime. They work Monday through Friday, nine to five most days."

He rolled his eyes and pulled her off his chest, glaring at her.

"You know less about computers than Rigsby does. No, not cyber-crime."

"Jane, you're supposed to be helping, not shooting me down."

Pulling her into his arms again, he held her close. "You're right, Teresa, but I was thinking bigger. Bertram owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude. He said it in front of the cameras. I think you should ask to fill Wainwright's old job. You should be Special Agent in Charge. Otherwise they're going to fill the position with another clean little pip-squeak and you'll have to go to cyber-crime just to stop yourself from throttling him or her."

Again she stared at him in surprise.

"Not that I'm saying you're not clean. Or little. We both know you shower. And are short."

She squinted hard and pinched him on his side. It didn't hurt much but he played along, pulling away and holding his side.

"Okay, okay, you're a giant…amongst midgets." He scooted away with her in pursuit, laughing in a mocking manner. "You're so tall, you can leap up curbs in a single bound! Matchbox walls tremble at your approach."

She chased him into the living room, where he dodged around her again.

"You're so tall, even Rigsby's jokes go over your head."

Down the short hall they ran into Annie's bedroom. Just when she had him cornered, he somersaulted across the bed and dashed out the door again. She was right on his heels.

_Damn, she's fast…for having such short legs._

"You're so tall, your feet show in your CBI ID."

She tackled him onto the sofa, pushing him face down into the cushions.

"Gotcha, you asshole!"

"Ow! That kinda hurt." He laughed as he said it.

"Take it back, Patrick," she said, pinching him on his side.

"Or what? You gonna climb a ladder to punch me in the nose?"

"If I can handle my three burly, surly brothers, I'm certain I can knock the snot outta the likes of you."

She scrambled around until she sat on the small of his back. Then she reached over and flicked his ear with her finger.

"Ow! Okay, uncle, uncle, uncle."

"That's better," she said, sliding off him and sitting on the coffee table. "There's more where that came from, bub."

"I'd rather be kissed," he said, squirming around until he was on his back.

The thoughtful look on her face pleased him, and when she glanced at his lips, he did his best to give her a welcoming smile. A flash of uncertainty filled her eyes and she leaned forward.

The front door opened and an old, trembling voice came through.

"What on Earth is going on up here?"

Teresa spun her head around with guilt, staring at Mrs. MacGyver. The white disheveled head stuck in, looking in at different spots in the apartment.

"I heard all the running around; I thought you had children up here."

"Everything's fine, Mrs. MacGyver," Patrick said. "We were just letting off some steam after the stress of today."

"Sorry to disturb you," Teresa said, crossing to the door with hurried strides. "It won't happen again."

"Speak for yourself," he said, not whispering when he said it.

She shot at him the very familiar, standard issue "Shut up, Jane. You're making things worse" Glare Model Number 3. He was glad to see it. She was recovering from her grief a little bit.

"Good night, Mrs. MacGyver," she said, moving to close the door.

"Oh, Reese, I wanted to ask if you and Patrick could give me a lift when you go to church tomorrow morning. My granddaughter is having problems with her car and can't drive me."

"Uh…" Teresa glanced at him in a complete loss.

"Reese would be happy to," he called out, sitting up. It was a little uncomfortable. The thought of kissing Teresa again was starting a physical reaction that he hadn't anticipated. "However, I won't be attending. I need to stay here to pack Tommy's things. Reese is giving most of this stuff to charity."

"Oh, how generous! You know, this Saturday St. Michael's is having a rummage sale to raise money for Christmas meals for our needier parishioners. Would you consider contributing a few items?"

"Uh…"

"Absolutely!" Patrick said. "Perhaps you could contact the organizers, Mrs. MacGyver, to see if they could get a truck to pick up a lot of this."

"That would be wonderful! We can talk to them tomorrow."

Teresa found her tongue again. "What service do you go to?"

"Eight, usually, but if that's too early, we can go to the ten o'clock mass."

"I'll make sure she's ready," Patrick piped up.

Teresa shot him the "Shut up, Jane. I don't need your help" Glare Model Number 9.

"We'll leave at 7:30," she told the old woman. Firmly she added, "And Patrick will be coming with us."

_Outmaneuvered._

"See you tomorrow, Mrs. MacGyver."

She closed the door and spun around to glare at him, the "I could just kick your ass right now" Glare Model Number 7.

"Come here and kiss me," he said.

She scoffed.

"Keep looking for the wills," she said, walking toward the kitchen. "We'll see about…about anything else later."

"Sounds promising."

As she walked, she twisted to waggle a finger at him. Her face was flush but she was smiling.

_Real promising._ He grinned as he watched her slender form before it disappeared around the corner. God, she was beautiful.

* * *

To help inspire getting rid of things, Patrick cleared an area of the living room to facilitate sorting. He began stacking items that he was certain the rummage sale could sell, things like artwork and knickknacks, magazines and books, and cheap décor. He put trash into black plastic bags he found in a small linen closet. Two more piles consisted of things he knew absolutely had sentimental value, like a vase obviously made by a child, probably Annie, and things he wasn't sure had emotional significance.

It was a welcome distraction, but still, his mind wandered toward remembering her soft lips, her sweet sigh, and her hands caressing the small of his back as they held each other…

These memories battled against his daydreams that were running wild. In his head, he saw them running off to city hall and his slipping a ring onto her finger. Now that Teresa reconciled with the idea she would raise Daniel, he could be part of a family again. Not just the CBI family with his "children" Grace, Wayne and Kimball, but a traditional family, attending piano recitals with heart-felt pride turning every off-tune note into a dramatic tone of creative interpretation, or Saturday morning soccer games spent cheering on his favorite goalie. He knew Teresa loved him. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch.

Then he looked at his right hand to where he switched his wedding band the day after Teresa killed Red John. He thought it was the right thing to do, go into mourning as a proper widower, but now it seemed ludicrous. He'd been a widower for twelve years. Would he have expected Angela to shut down her life for that long if Red John had killed him instead of her? No. It would have devastated him to know she'd stalled her life in memory of him. She had been a woman of great love and compassion. She would have deserved to seek love again.

Motion from the dining room caught his eye. Teresa was carrying dishes to the dining room table where other cabinet contents were stacked. She flashed him a smile before returning to the kitchen.

Once again he looked at his wedding band. He slipped it off and tucked it into the pocket of his vest.

_Love you, Teresa._

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	26. C26 - Social Settings

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Happy First Day of Summer, Northern Hemisphere! Happy First Day of Winter, Southern Hemisphere! _Ain't science wonderful?_

* * *

Thanks to CRR for beta-reading! Can't wait for "I Remember You" to come out!

* * *

Chapter 26

After bringing the room to its bare-bone-basics, Patrick joined Teresa in the kitchen. He found her wiping down the inside of the cabinets.

"Finished in there," he said, taking an Oreo from the open container on the counter. "How are you doing here? Any wills?"

Her eyes followed the cookie as he lifted it to his lips.

"That's the last one," she said.

"Is it?" he asked, looking at it. "There had been six or seven in there this morning." He took a bite and offered her the rest. She opened her lips and leaned toward him.

For the briefest moment he was tempted to fill her mouth with his tongue. Very tempted. Instead he gave her the rest of the cookie.

"If you're done in here, we can go out and find someplace that sells boxes so we can pack this stuff."

She nodded, swallowing the last of the cookie. "Where are we going to find someplace open at 7:30 on a Saturday night?"

"One of those big-box hardware stores should be open. In California, they're open until 10, even on Saturday and Sunday."

Skeptical, Teresa arched her eyebrows as she put the cleaning rag in the bucket of soapy water.

"I'm pretty much done here. Let me change clothes and we'll go."

"You don't need to change."

She scoffed and looked him up and down. "I'm not going anywhere with you dressed like that if I'm dressed like this."

He glanced over her sweats and tee-shirt. "Oh, pshaw! You could be wearing a garbage bag and it would be perfect. Beautiful women can get away with wearing anything in public."

She blushed and diverted her eyes.

"But if it will make you feel better, I'll change clothes too."

Before she could react, he turned and headed to Tommy's room and his suitcase. When he returned, he was in his workout gear and running shoes.

It was fun to see her gawk at him. He'd been careful to never let his CBI colleagues see him in anything but a suit if he could help it. Somehow he felt he couldn't afford to lose any credibility with them. But seeing the shock in her eyes was priceless.

"Let's go," he said, holding out her coat that she borrowed from Annie's closet.

* * *

The GPS in the rental recommended the nearest hardware store as three miles away. It was open until ten.

"Do you memorize operating hours for every store you think you might ever go into?" she asked as they filled the back of the SUV with boxes, packing materials, rolls of tape, and marking pens. "A memory palace of retail stores? Or better, a mall instead of a memory palace."

"Ha, ha, clever." He closed the hatch and they went around, climbing in. "Do you remember the Hargrove case a few months ago? When we proved that the husband had staged the kidnapping of his wife and buried her in Dottev State Park like she was alive, although she was already dead by suffocation?"

"Yeah, we followed his purchase history back two months; we found proof he'd bought all the materials he used to build the wooden vault she…" Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. "No…wait…Van Pelt looked all that up."

He pressed his lips together but said nothing as he turned over the ignition.

"So, you told Van Pelt to examine his credit card purchases?"

"No, she did that as a matter of procedure. I merely asked Grace to look up the hours of the Home Depot near Dottev. Then I suggested that the purchase of wood and tar paper and that specific type of hose used as an air vent probably took place within the months of June, July or August, based on the manufacturing date on the wood. Also I subliminally suggested that she search for names of people who knew the victim."

"I don't believe you. My team is smart enough to seek out clues themselves."

"Under normal circumstances that case would have been a walk in the park for the team, but since the husband had a supposedly iron-clad alibi, they were affording him a lot of leeway."

"And his alibi fell apart when the coroner adjusted the time of death by at least five hours prior to her reported disappearance. An adjustment made because Cho insisted the time of death be re-examined after it was discovered the husband had made the Home Depot purchase."

"Yes. The husband was a very clever man who understood organic chemistry in a forensic application very well."

"Don't tell me you're suggesting that Cho didn't do—"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying—"

Something out the car window caught her attention. "Hey, I know that place! My cousin used to own it. Why don't we stop for a drink? I'm buying."

He looked at the tavern she pointed to. The South had its honky-tonk; Chicago had its corner bar, complete with a "Packaged Goods" announcement on the sign that advertised "Old Style" beer. It reminded him of traveling with his father as a youth. But like many moments involving time with his dad, that which he once viewed with smug pride for cleverness, he now knew to be shameful and – in some instances – even criminal.

But Teresa needed to relax and blow off some steam. Beer and music might do some good. Maybe they could even shoot pool together. It could be fun.

Besides, it got her out of the mindset of having to defend her team. He loved her bulldog loyalty and felt uncomfortable for putting her in that mode.

"Okay, that sounds good. Maybe at the pool table we could hustle free rounds of drinks."

To his surprise, that drew an admiring glance from her. He pulled into the first available parking spot.

* * *

His childhood memories flooded back as they entered the door. Despite the smoking ban on the books for so many years in Chicago, the place still smelled the way he remembered such places to smell. Slightly of unemptied ashtray, slightly of disintegrating linoleum, slightly of stale beer. And yet…there were good feelings associated with it. The karnie kids gathered around the bowling machine, trying to scam each other out of their spending money. The older kids practicing their trick shots on the pool table, helping each other save money by catching the balls before they disappeared into the pockets. The adults talking business or complaining about the new contacts for established jobs. Occasionally a small group would break into song to accompany the juke box.

Now the bowling machine was replaced with a basketball machine and the juke box was a karaoke machine. The crowd was all strictly over twenty-one; no bar owner wanted to lose his liquor license or pay the hefty bribe to an alderman in order to keep it. Still, there was a pool table with a couple of tall tables nearby. Being a Saturday night, the ancillary bar was open.

Patrick gestured towards an available table in the pool room, knowing he wouldn't be heard over the karaoke singer.

After they removed their coats and settled on stools, Teresa leaned closer to talk in his ear over the bad singing and the clack of billiard balls. "This place hasn't changed much since Andrew owned it."

"What?" He'd heard her just fine, but he couldn't resist having her close.

"It's still the same," she said, gesturing.

He nodded and leaned toward her. She smelled like Annie's floral shampoo instead of her usual delicious citrusy vanilla. "What do you want to drink?"

"I'm buying," she insisted.

"What?" he said again, making her lean into him.

"You just gave Daniel thirty thousand dollars. The least I can do is buy you a scotch."

He watched her lips as she spoke, tempting in their soft pinkness. Oh, so tempting!

"Fine. Jameson's neat, if they have it." Interesting that she remembered he drank scotch. Of course, after knowing each other eleven years…

Patrick watched her walk toward the bar, skirting around a somewhat rough-looking character bending over his cue-stick to make his shot. His attention shifted to the pool player because the reddened black eyes stopped to watch Teresa after she excused herself to him. _Out of work construction worker. Bricklayer, perhaps? Can't lay brick walls in cold November. A hundred ninety-one, maybe one eighty-nine pounds. Had a fight with the girlfriend. Shoots pool for drinks because he can't afford to buy them._

The bricklayer glanced at Patrick as if feeling his scrutinizing stare and did a double take before huffing his chest. _Insecure with his masculinity. Probably abuses women in compensation._

"Keep an eye on her," Patrick advised him. "She shot a man dead with a Glock a couple of months ago and walked away scot-free. _Scot-free._ Not even cuffed when taken by the police for questioning. And it wasn't the first person she's killed."

A tell of fear came to the bricklayer's eyes, a slight widening of the lids as his pupils constricted. His pool game opponent told him to get back to the game so he looked away.

Patrick smiled to himself. Lisbon would kill him if she knew.

Taking a few quarters out of his pocket, he stacked them on the pool table to get in line for the next game. Then he listened to the new karaoke singer as he glanced at the people in the bar. Better singer; that helped some, although "Here You Come Again" could only be done justice by Dolly Parton, not some half-drunken woman with a Chicago accent. The song selections seemed to be Country Music of the 1970s, since the previous song was "Take This Job and Shove It". His mind ran through the strange lists stored in his head; top country song of 1970 "Rose Garden" by Lynn Anderson; 1971 was topped by "When You're Hot, You're Hot" by Jerry Reed…

_And let's see, 1972 and 1973 are hard to recall but 1974 was –_

He froze with inspiration as his thought raced ahead to the next known fact. _Perfect, perfect, perfect! It was the perfect song for the occasion!_

When Teresa came back, he held up one finger and looked at her significantly. "I'll be right back."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	27. C27 - Karaoke crisis

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Last I checked, I'm not Billy Swan and don't own "I Can Help", but since the song is so perfect for this story, I had to share it with you. There is no copyright infringement intended. In fact, I recommend that you go to Amazon and buy the song from Mr. Swan. It's a fun, bouncy love song!

* * *

Thank you to **_Cumberland River Relic_** as always for time and support as a beta reader! Go check out CRR's story "Welcome to the Family" (affectionately referred to by me as WttF! even though CRR would prefer I didn't.) It's an amusing vignette featuring the perfect boy-child of Teresa and Patrick and how his serious girlfriend Alice is nervous about making the Big Announcement to her future in-laws. Seriously. Go read it. You'll laugh. :-)

* * *

Sorry for the long Author's Note. Must have something to do with this being a long chapter. Dunno. Anyway, without further ado…

* * *

Oh, and watch out! In the chapter below, the bar owner drops the f-bomb a couple times. Sorry!

* * *

Chapter 27

She watched him wind his way through the crowded bar. Bathroom break? Going to buy peanuts? Off to start a brawl? All of the above?

When he disappeared, she settled onto her barstool and looked around. One of the pool players was talking to the other one; they both were staring at her. She smiled awkwardly and looked away.

To her irritation, the tall one walked over and stopped right in front of her, staring some more.

"Hey," he said. It sounded like a challenge.

"Hi, how are ya?" she asked lightly.

"Your boyfriend said you killed someone. Is that true?"

"Oh, he's not …" Hmmm. Did she really want to be considered fair game to this guy? Her cop instinct screamed that the guy was trouble. "…my publicity agent. He shouldn't have just announced that to anyone." _Where did that damned glib answer come from? Dammit, I'm getting as good at this shit as Jane is. _

"So you _did_ kill someone?" Again, the aggression behind the disbelief was hard to miss.

"Oh, sure. I've killed about a dozen people, I'd say. Maybe only ten. They all deserved it, of course. I'll probably have to kill someone else in the not too distant future."

This guy was definitely bad news and starting to make her uneasy. He shifted his shoulders, almost squaring up to her.

"Oh, my god! Reese? Reesie Lisbon?"

Teresa broke eye contact with the pool player as a tall, fat woman stepped up. She had two-toned hair – bottle black and bleach blonde – cut in a shaggy bob, and her voice was gravelly from cigarette smoke and booze abuse. Her sweater and slacks were clean and neat, just of a bad cut and about two sizes too big. It almost seemed like a costume for a rough, tough bar bitch.

And yet she looked vaguely familiar…

"It's me, Bethany Suiza." She looked mockingly impatient and held out her arms like _"What, you don't remember me who was once joined at your hip until sometime late last week?"_

Damn it, why _did_ she look so familiar?

"I used to be Bo Hitchcock, back when I hated 'Bethany' and before I got married."

The shock of recognition sent a shudder through Teresa's frame before she launched herself into the embrace of the big woman. God, the woman had changed since junior high school!

"Bo! Oh my god! How the hell are you? I haven't seen you since…"

"It's been ages, girl, ages!" She pulled back to examine Teresa's face. "Since you moved to California and became a cop. You're looking great! What are you doing here? Decide to move back? Or are you just here for Thanksgiving?"

The jarring reminder struck the joy from Teresa's heart, but as she opened her mouth to tell Bo about Tommy, the woman sucked in her breath.

"Who is that _gorgeous_ creature?"

"Her boyfriend," the bricklayer said bitterly.

Bo glanced at Teresa and then looked at the bricklayer. "Go back to your game, Stanley. Mind your own fucking business."

Teresa looked where Bo had been looking. Patrick was just approaching.

"Told you I'd be right back," he said, stopping next to her.

"Patrick? This is Bo—I mean, Bethany Suiza."

"Oh, you can call me 'Bo' if you want, Reesie." The woman turned a big, cheeky grin toward Patrick as she held out her hand.

"This is my…friend Patrick. He's…he's here to help me with Tommy and his daughter Annie's funerals and stuff."

Bo stopped pumping Patrick's hand and stared at Teresa in shock.

"Tommy's dead? Oh god, Teresa! I'm so sorry. What happened?" When Teresa had trouble answering, Bo grabbed her in another hug. "Never mind, never mind. Just…please accept my condolences."

"Thank you," Teresa answered, pulling out of her embrace and picking up her vodka tonic without looking at either her or Patrick.

Bo seemed to sense Teresa's discomfort because she dropped the subject by pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to Patrick.

"Well, my husband and I own this joint. Here are a couple of wristbands; drinks on the house."

"That's very kind of you," Patrick said. "Thank you."

She stared at him a moment and then shook her head. "Damn, you're gorgeous." To Teresa she said, "I have to make the rounds. Otherwise the troublemakers start to get a foothold. I'll be back in a few minutes so we can talk about the old days."

She left, stopping occasionally to work the crowd.

"There goes a bold personality," Patrick said.

Teresa sat at their table and took a large pull of her drink. "Yeah, she always was in high school too. She'd get us into trouble with the nuns and I'd have to get us out of it."

After sipping a little from his glass, Patrick chuckled. "So you're saying you had developed these skills before you met me?"

He removed the tab on the wristband and held it out for her, closing it around her wrist. She did the same for him.

"Let's just say, we were rank amateurs compared to the trouble you get me into."

"Aw, I'm wounded."

"I doubt it," she scoffed.

"And I doubt that you got into much trouble in high school."

"Not your kind of mischief, but I saw my share."

"Did it involve cigarettes and under-age drinking?"

She stared wide-eyed at him a moment.

"Oh, so it _did_."

"So?" she asked defensively. "Didn't you experiment as a teenager?"

"Well,…yes, of course. I smoked 'Kool 100s' until I met… well, until I was asked to quit."

"Really? That's what I smoked too."

She looked at his lips as he gave a cocky smile. Somehow she couldn't picture him smoking. His teeth were so perfectly white, even with all that tea he drank. His breath was always so fresh, so minty.

"If you're wondering if I used a cigarette holder, the answer is 'no'."

With surprise she raised her gaze to his eyes. That beautiful, mischievous twinkle sparked in them.

_Bo's right. He's gorgeous. I mean, I've always known it, but somehow, right now…_

God, that was a dangerous thought to have. _Any_ romantic thought about Jane was dangerous. He could shred her heart into its very own ticker tape parade with merely a nod and a wink.

"Did I ever tell you that you have lovely eyes?" he asked.

Heat flooded up her neck and into her face. _Why does he do stuff like that just when I'm starting to appreciate him? He's just relentless!_

"You do, too," she said, feeling like she had to say something in self-defense.

"Do you really think so?" he asked lightly. "Nice of you to say. Thank you."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "You are well aware that you're a good-looking man. You use it as a weapon all the time."

"Me?"

For the first time ever, she could swear he blushed. Or maybe it was just a neon beer sign flashing.

"That, combined with your manipulative mentalist ways," she continued, "makes it very hard to tell when you're trapping me in my own actions."

She regretted saying it. Maybe blushing wasn't likely but pain on his face was, and this time it was directly attributable to her. As he reached for his scotch, she intercepted his hand and squeezed.

"Sorry, Patrick. I didn't mean it quite as harshly as it sounded, although I confess that I often have to think about what I say to you before I say it. You're always twelve steps ahead of me."

"That's not true, Teresa. You're one of the smartest people I know. Talking with you and working on cases is one of the joys of my life. We've had so many fascinating discussions about bunches of things. I can't understand why you're still wary of me."

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because…I don't trust myself right now, all right?...There. I said it. Right now I could easily find myself not…not being responsible."

He opened his mouth to speak just as Stanley the bricklayer stepped up.

"Your table, right?" he said gruffly.

Patrick looked at the cleared pool table and then at her. "Do you still want to play? With these wristbands, we don't need to hustle for drinks."

Actually she didn't want to play anymore, but nor did she want to continue that conversation. She smiled at his joke and nodded. "Let's play. I think I'm going to surprise you."

"Every moment of every day," he said with a grin. "Let me rack 'em and you can break."

* * *

She did surprise him, much to her delight. With practiced ease, her break sank the eight ball for an instant win according to Chicago house rules, which Patrick begrudgingly acknowledged. He then put another set of quarters down before they took turns shooting to clear the table.

"No wonder you were so eager to stop here," he said after she sank her third ball in a row. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"Listen, Trick, you're not the only one who had a misspent youth in taverns," she teased.

She was glad when he chuckled and murmured "Trick" under his breath. Then he rolled his eyes and gestured playfully, waving his hands in the air a little. "Okay, _Reesie,_" he said in a goofy voice.

"Every Saturday afternoon when my father wasn't on call at the firehouse, he'd bring me and my brothers to Harry's Tap down the street from our house, just to get us screaming kids out of my mother's hair for a while." She lined up another shot, concentrating.

"Uh huh. Bet you had trouble reaching over the table rails," he said. Then with timing he added, "Shorty….Oooooh! Missed the shot."

She glared playfully at him. He did hate to lose, she thought.

"You are such a cheater, Trick," she said, smacking his arm as he chalked his cue.

"And a liar and a fraud, Reesie" he said, examining the lay of the table. He adjusted his shoulders and bent over his cue stick. "Okay, six in the corner pocket." He winked at her and added, "Your _missed_ six…"

Over the P.A. an enthusiastic voice came blaring, "Patrick, it's your Karaoke Kall! C'mon, dude, you're up to sing your heart out."

Patrick straightened, a grin spreading over his face like molasses across hot cakes. She had to admit it looked just as delicious. He shoved his cue stick into Stanley's hand. "Clean this up for us, Stan, and then go ahead and play my quarters." He grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the karaoke crowd.

"No, no, no, Patrick! I don't sing in public!"

"Then come listen to me," he said, pulling her to the front. He grabbed an open barstool and dragged it over before indicating for her to sit. Someone handed him the mike.

"This is dedicated to the lovely Reesie, whose compassion and loyalty knows no bounds."

He gestured toward the karaoke machine operator, and when the music began she gasped with recognition. A song from her childhood flooded her memories, starting with the tangle of rockabilly electric guitar notes followed by a hokey, old-fashioned Hammond organ sound. It reminded her of roller-skating trips with her Girl Scout troop and Saturday afternoons in a bar like that one, standing on her Uncle Brian's feet while he danced, carrying her along.

Patrick got the crowd clapping in time to the music and then started swaying. Then he began to sing in the smooth, mellow tones of an accomplished crooner, instead of Billy Swan's rockabilly accent.

_If you've got a problem, I don't care what it is,  
If you need a hand, I can assure you this,  
I can help!_

_I've got two strong arms,  
I can help!  
It would sure do me good __**to do you good**__,  
Let me help!_

With the words 'two strong arms', he held out an arm towards her. The crowd 'woohooed!'.

_It's a fact that people get lonely, ain't nothing new.  
But a woman like you, baby, should never have the blues!  
Let me help,_

_Take a tip from me,  
Let me help!  
It would sure do me good __**to do you good**__!  
Let me help._

A huge lump formed in her throat. _Holy crap, Patrick! What are you doing? What are you saying?_ Then her face grew hot as she remembered the next lines of the song before he sang them. He apparently did too, because his eyes took on additional sparkle.

_When I go to sleep at night, you're always a part of my dream,  
Holding me tight and telling me everything I want to hear!_

Try as she might to resist, she allowed her heart to melt at the sight of this amazing man singing to her.

To her! Singing beautifully _to her_!

_Don't forget me, baby, all you gotta do is call!  
You know how I feel about you, if I can do anything at all,  
Let me help!_

Then he took a step closer and stopped dancing to sing:

_If your child needs a Daddy,  
I can help!  
It would sure do me good __**to do you good**__,  
Let me help._

He drew out the word "child" to emphasize it, and she swore she was going to collapse off the chair. How could this song be any more perfect?

The karaoke machine displayed the words "8 bar instrumental break" and Patrick grabbed her and pulled her into his arms to dance close. She yelped but apparently he was being literal when he'd sung "I've got two strong arms" because she couldn't pull away.

_When I go to sleep at night, you're always a part of my dream!  
Holding me tight and telling me everything I want to hear.  
Well, don't forget me, baby, all you gotta do is call,  
You know how I feel about you, if I can do anything at all,  
Let me help!_

Finally! He released her and she skirted backward out of the center of attention. He brought both hands up to the mike and really started singing with renewed earnest.

And then she noticed it.

His wedding band.

It was gone.

From both hands.

He removed his wedding band! In eleven years he'd _never_ removed his wedding band! _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…!_

Again he leaned toward her to sing,

_Cause a child needs a Daddy,  
I can help!  
It would sure do me good __**to do you good**__!  
Let me help!_

She was so stunned, that when he hugged her during the closing chords, she could only stand there. Underlying the cheers of the crowd, she could swear she heard him say "Love you, Teresa."

_No, no, not that again…_

Then hands pulled him away with shouts of "Encore!" and "Do it again!" She could see that being the ham he is, he couldn't resist. Slack-jawed, she merely stared at him as the chords began again and the crowd started clapping in time and bouncing to the beat.

Someone jostled her and she looked up to find Bo.

"Did Gorgeous just fucking propose to you, Reesie?"

Teresa swore to herself later that she didn't gibber out loud, but at the moment she couldn't operate her mouth properly. After swallowing hard, she shook her head.

"No, Bethany, he didn't. He couldn't've!"

"Sure sounded like a proposal to me."

"No, no, no, no…"

She turned and pushed her way through the crowd back to their table where she drained her drink and then downed the second one that they'd ordered for her while they were shooting pool.

_Patrick Jane just sang a love song to me. He took off his wedding band and sang to me. What the hell am I going to do? He…_loves_ me? Oh my god! Patrick Jane loves me?_

She leaned against the table a moment and exhaled. Why not? If she was honest with herself, she had more than brotherly love for him, no matter how often and how hard she tried to convince herself to the contrary.

The song ended just as she was leaving the ancillary bar with her third vodka tonic. A double, so actually it was her third and fourth. The roar of the crowd was just dying back as she settled on the barstool and he broke through the crowd.

God, she wanted to just punch that smug look off his face! Instead she took a large gulp of her drink, half-emptying the glass.

"Hey," he said, smiling, his face glowing from the adoration of his audience. "Did you like the song?"

She stared at him, again swallowing hard.

"I remember that song from when I was just a little kid. My mother used to sing it to me sometimes when I'd wake up in the morning." He shrugged and some of the warmth disappeared from his expression. "And then my dad would call her a 'crazy woman' and tell her to shut up."

She took a sip and nodded. "Yes, Patrick, I liked the song very much. My uncle used to dance with me to that song when I was just a little girl. I used to stand…on his boots and he would…dance me around." Then she looked at her glass and drained the remaining fluid down her throat.

It wasn't the smartest thing to do. Those drinks had been strong and her stomach was starting to roil a bit.

"I think…I think I need to go back to the apartment."

He scrutinized her face and then his gaze darted over the table. Her Collins glass and the two Old Fashioneds glasses contained nothing but melting ice, whereas most of his scotch was still there.

"Oh," he said. "Okay, Teresa, I'll get you home."

* * *

The booze was hitting her faster now, the street starting to sway beneath her feet. He helped her into the passenger side of the rental SUV, and when she struggled with the seatbelt, he reached over to click it for her. As he did, she leaned forward and placed her forehead against his cheek, his five-o'clock shadow scratching her skin, the remnants of his cologne filling her nose.

"Teresa," he whispered, "my beautiful lady…I'm sorry. I honestly thought…thought you felt the same way I do."

He turned to place a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back and closing the car door.


	28. C28 - Drunk

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Once again thank you to Cumberland River Relic for beta duties. Very much obliged!

* * *

**Chapter 28**

Patrick had to be careful driving back to the apartment. Aside from it being Saturday night when all the drunks were on the road, Teresa's mumbling under her breath was quite a distraction; the few discernible words were also disheartening. Words like 'liar' and 'dangerous' and 'untrustworthy'.

He'd never seen her so drunk. In their entire history, all the troubles they'd shared, all the dangers they'd recovered from together, he'd never worried that she couldn't handle the world, but now he did.

And it was his fault.

Leaving her now wasn't an option, although backing off was a short-range solution. He would help her get to Sacramento with Daniel and settle in, maybe find a bigger apartment for her to live in… or at least one closer to the office, and then he would vanish from her life.

He knew how to vanish. Carnies did it all the time. It was like a genetic mutation specific to their gypsy souls. Sometimes getting found again afterward was problematic, since being lost became a way of existing. Only when Angela took him by his hand had he been found.

A peculiar, distinct noise came from Teresa, drawing him out of his thoughts. When he looked at her, he found a peculiar, distinct expression.

_Shit. She's gonna be sick._

He pulled over immediately and opened the window for her. She put her head out and sucked the cold air into her lungs, gasping like she'd surfaced from a near-drowning.

"It's okay, Lisbon," he said, forcing himself to revert to office names. It felt so wrong now. She was Teresa. _His_ Teresa.

He touched her back in reassurance but instead of calming her, she exploded. All three drinks plus other things spewed through the air.

"Oh, lawdy…" she moaned. She started to wipe her mouth with her coat sleeve but then she looked at Annie's coat like a precious thing.

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing at her lips. She sighed and collapsed into the backrest. As he reached for the button to close the window, she retched again and leaned out the window.

Every instinct told him to rub her back in comfort but he couldn't bring his hand up to touch her. Last time it evoked vomit.

Well… no, he knew logically that wasn't true, but he definitely had a negative effect on her.

She leaned back without bringing anything up but he wiped her mouth for her anyway. Her eyes remained closed.

"Patrick…does not… love me. He…he's messing… with me. Knows…I…knows how much…"

Who was messing with whom? Talking about him like he wasn't there?

Walloped woman. Why did she drink so hard? Was the idea that he was in love with her so hard to swallow?

Damn it, yes it was. Spending the last eleven years being cold and vengeful and capable of anything? Lying to her and disappearing for months and screwing his worst enemy's mistress and burying a man alive and…so many other things that it hurt to count them. Yes, he truly paid for it now. He didn't believe that Purgatory or Hell would make him suffer for his trespasses against Teresa. It would be his conscience and his perfect memory.

He checked his side mirror before pulling out into the light flow of traffic. After glancing at her again, he rolled up the window.

"I'm so sorry, Lisbon."

"Yeah… probably," she murmured. It didn't seem addressed to him; more like half of a dialogue from within her head. "Probably just wants a baby. Besides, he loves her, not me."

At least that's what it sounded like to him. She slurred badly.

"Loves who?" he asked. Surely she didn't mean Lorelei Martins…

"Her!" she yelled. "Agnella!… Angela!"

Oh.

"Well…yes, I always will, Teresa."

"What about me?" she yelled. Her arms flailed, mostly pounding on her chest.

"Yes. I do love you, Teresa."

"No, no, no… not me. Patrick can't love anyone. He's hard. He's…he's a bastard." She groaned and held her stomach. He reached for the window control while searching for a parking spot. Instead her groan was emotional. "Eyes… he has such pretty eyes. Heartless bastard with beautiful eyes full of...something…don't know…can't be love. Looks like…something."

God, this was getting bad. She wasn't saying anything he didn't know but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

"I have a heart, Teresa. It's yours now."

"No!"

He glanced at her. She shook her head violently. Then her eyes popped open and she retched again. He got the window for her barely in time. Somewhere she had a reserve of fluid or something.

_Gonna have to wash the rental before we return it._

"Teresa…

"Weakness. Can't be weakness."

He couldn't help it. She needed to be reassured. Pulling over once more, he caressed her hair. "Oh, my sweet lady, I am so sorry that I ever hurt you. You're right. I'm a heartless bastard who only thinks of himself… until now. I love you and I need you to trust me. I'll take care of you and Daniel. I promise you."

She finally looked at him with red and glassy eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low and husky. "God, I love you, Patrick. Why? Why do I love you? Not because you act like I mean something…" She swallowed hard. "Mean something to you." Her eyes crossed so she closed them. "You've hurt me so many times, but still I keep forgiving you… like I always do… with everybody!" She put her hand on her heart. "Broken so many times. Why am I such an idiot?"

Finally she began to cry. "But you don't mean it. I can tell you don't mean to hurt me. You…care… when I'm in pain. Guilt."

He nodded. "Yes, I do care when you're in pain, Teresa. And I care when you're happy. Believe me. I love you, my beautiful lady."

This wasn't doing any bloody good. She wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow, and besides they were just words. He used actions to hurt her; now he'd use _actions_ to show her that he loved her. Not just be clever. Not just be charming.

Just be loving.

* * *

When they arrived at the apartment, he parked in the garage and tried to lead her upstairs to the apartment. When she stumbled so much, he picked her up and carried her. It turned out to be easier.

Shocking to him, she seemed lighter than ever.

By the time he set her on the bed and removed her shoes, she was passed out. As he was about to pull the covers over her, he stopped and maneuvered her body into a seizure recovery position just in case she vomited again. With pity and a little hesitation, he released her bra hooks, hoping she'd be comfortable until morning.

But boy, was she due a killer hangover!

He glanced at the alarm clock on the dresser. Ten-thirty. He could still get some packing done before catching a few hours' sleep himself.

Heaving a sigh, he bent over and kissed her temple.

"Good night, my love. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

She hummed in her sleep and shifted a little.

"Good night, sweetie," she mumbled.

He grinned and left.

* * *

**To be continued... Hope that's what you were expecting...**


	29. C29 - Hot Mess

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thanks to CRR for the prepublish perusal and feedback. I appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter 29**

_Who the hell was pounding at that time in the morning?_

Teresa squinted against the brightness of the sun and the loud banging from the door.

"What?" she groaned.

"Time to get up, Reesie," Patrick yelled as the door's squeaky hinges roared when he opened it.

"Don't yell," she said. "I can hear you."

He smiled as he entered, amused at her words. She wished he'd step more softly. Even his flannel pajama bottoms seemed to swish loudly as he walked.

"I think your hangover is making everything seem loud this morning, my love, because I am most definitely not yelling."

She covered her head with the pillow, releasing a low groan. Then she uncovered it again.

"What?"

"I said, you need to get up," he said, poking her leg. "We have to drive Mrs. MacGyver to church."

Again she groaned. "Church! I can't go to church hung over. God will strike me with lightning if I go to church hung over."

His laughter seemed to burst her eardrums, although she suspected it was a light chuckle.

"Okay, my dear. You stay here safe from lightning, and I'll take Mrs. MacGyver."

Despite the pain, she tried to sit up. It didn't work. The room started to spin and vomit soured the back of her throat.

"In here!" he urged.

Somehow, through eyeballs that felt like they were about to explode, she saw him holding a garbage can by the side of the bed. As she puked, he drew her hair back, holding it out of harm's way. At last she sputtered – literally – to a stop, spitting the last of it into the can.

"Hey, can you grab this?" he asked shaking her hair. When she did, he dashed out of the room.

She couldn't blame him. She didn't want to be in that vomit-y room either. The smell was making her nausea worse. Now she was grateful that he stayed while she was puking.

"Here, put this on your face."

He had returned, holding out a washcloth. When she took it, she shivered. It was cold and wet.

"I set a glass of water and some crackers on the nightstand. Try to eat and drink as much as you can. I'll get you some electrolyte sports drink on the way back. I'm going to shower and dress for church. I'll tell Mrs. MacGyver that you picked up a food infection from something in Tommy's fridge."

With a light groan she lay back in the bed, leaning against the headboard, placing the cloth on her face. It helped.

Time seemed to stand still as all she could think about was the sharp throbbing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. The sound of the shower splashing against the common wall between the bedroom and the bathroom was a steady hiss that lulled her into calm until he shut it off and the pipes banged, seeming to explode next to her ear. Why couldn't Tommy have lived in a modern building with plumbing that didn't do that?

And with thicker walls! She could hear when Patrick started up the hairdryer.

She never pictured him drying his hair, probably because in California it never really got cold outside, and usually he just combed it out and let it dry naturally. When he didn't even comb it, he'd sport a head of riotous, blond curls. She loved his hair like that. Whenever he did that, she spent all day tempted to brush that cute little lock off his forehead before it fell into his eyes.

That thought only made her face feel warmer. After taking the cloth off her face and refolding it to expose a cooler portion, she ran it over her neck and the exposed part of her chest. It really did seem to be helping. It would also help if she didn't think about anything, especially adorable sun-kissed hair falling in front of green-gray eyes.

The hair dryer stopped and she heard him brushing his teeth. She sucked on her own teeth a moment. Yeah, that would also help her feel better: brushing and mouthwash.

Something was poking her in the back so she wiggled a little to reach behind her only to realize it was her bra. Then she absorbed the fact she was still in her clothes from the night before.

Damn it, that was stupid, she thought as she slipped the bra off. Granted, it was just a t-shirt and sweats, but really she didn't have a lot of clothes in Chicago and she didn't want to have to do laundry.

_Wait a minute…dress for church?_

She sat up and started to scoot toward the edge of the bed. The bathroom door opened at the same time and he passed before the bedroom door on his way to Tommy's bedroom. As she started to call out to him to ask him about church, she realized what he was wearing.

A towel. _Only_ a towel, wrapped around his waist. There were muscles everywhere; his arms, his back, his legs, his chest…

It was only a fleeting glimpse but it was enough. Yes, she was gibbering.

Damn! Why did she have a hangover at a time like this? Now was the time to get him to ask her to kiss him. Why in the hell did she drink so much?

And why wasn't he affected? The last thing she remembered was playing pool with…no, it was of him singing…a rockabilly song…

_Oh god…he wants to help me with Daniel. I mean, he _really_ wants to help me with Daniel._

Had…had he proposed? No! That's what Bo said, but she didn't understand how it was with Patrick. And yet…something was different. That song. She remembered it from being a kid. It was kinda a love song. Right?

"Patrick?"

"I'll be right there. I'm almost dressed."

She swallowed hard again at the memory of him without clothes but also at the cusp of memory of something that may have happened, except she couldn't quite remember what.

Buttoning his shirt, he stepped up to the doorjamb and leaned against the frame. There was a fleeting peek of muscles as the shirt separated. He lowered his face to look at the next button. "Yes, my dear?"

"I…I'm sorry if I did anything to embarrass you at the bar last night."

He looked up sharply from his shirtfront. "Embarrass me?"

She nodded. "I don't…don't remember everything that happened, but I-I-I remember leaving in a hurry."

God, why was he staring at her like that? Neither smiling nor frowning. Just staring. What had she done?

"A-anyway…I'm sorry."

Finally he straightened and turned away. "Nothing to apologize for. Don't worry about it."

"Wait! Patrick…?"

He came back, tucking away an expression, but she couldn't tell what.

"What did you say about getting dressed for church?"

"Yes, I'll take Mrs. MacGyver and talk to somebody there about picking up the items from the kitchen that you set aside."

"I didn't pack any of it yet."

"I did a few boxes last night. It's a good start."

She caught her breath and stared at him. "Really? Oh, thank you, Patrick. But are you sure you want to hang around with Mrs. M for two hours?"

He made that face he always did when he wanted her to know she shouldn't worry about what he was doing. Like 'what's the big deal? I'm a grown boy.' She always worried when he made that face.

"Well, it's nice of you to do that. Just don't start any trouble."

"I'm off-duty for trouble-making, dear. Just relax. If you start feeling better, check in here for the wills." He glanced around the room before smiling at her.

"Okay, I'll do that."

"I have a feeling, however, that it's going to be longer than two hours that you start feeling better." He rolled his eyes and pantomimed drinking deeply. "Woo!"

As he left, she leaned back against the headboard. She knew he was right. Wincing at the movement, she reached to the nightstand and picked up the hairband she'd spotted there. The way her stomach felt, it seemed likely there was more puking in her future with no Patrick around to hold her hair back.

As she applied the band, she had to smile. _The mark of a friend; holding your hair while you're bent over a toilet after a night out. _She remembered doing that with Bo once. And a few other girlfriends. Never with a boyfriend.

Er…boy _friend_, not _boyfriend_, although she appreciated the caring it took to hang out through something like that. Jane had a strange inconsistency when it came to gross things. He could be squeamish simply looking at a body, but if he became invested in a problem, he had no difficulty examining even the most mangled corpse minutely, even getting onto his knees and sniffing it.

She groaned as her stomach took another flip. Why was she thinking about mangled corpses? Once again, she was over the waste bin making waste.

As she lay on her belly with her face hovering off the edge of the bed, she felt a hand rubbing over her back. Then weight sank the mattress next to her.

"Here," he said. He offered her a fresh washcloth. She sat up but when she couldn't find the strength to take it, he ran it gently over her face, lastly her mouth.

"God, I must look like a mess this morning," she said.

"A hot mess," he confirmed. Then he kissed her forehead. "But you're beautiful to me."

Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. He smiled slightly and stood up, then headed for the door.

"I'll be back in a while, my friend," he said as he exited.

She stared after him, unable to move. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… he loves me._

She leaned over the bucket and retched again. This just couldn't be happening.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	30. C30 - Special Favors

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Oh, boy! Thank goodness for Cumberland River Relic. This chapter started out going in a completely wrong direction. As beta reader, CRR gave me a heads up of that fact (in his usual gentle yet constructive way), so I went back and rewrote. Definitely an improvement. Thanks, CRR!

* * *

**Chapter 30**

Teresa would have been proud of him. Despite being bored out of his mind by his surroundings, Patrick behaved himself. Even though he didn't stand and sit and kneel and rise and sing and wave his hands in the air and whatever else the commands were, he sat with his hands clasped in his lap while Mrs. MacGyver followed the ritual of Catholic Mass. He smiled benignly as her quavering voice attempted to reach all the notes. He helped her when she struggled to rise or tottered as she sat.

All for the love of Lisbon.

Mrs. MacGyver's gaze darted to him because he wasn't joining in. He simply didn't feel obligated such as when he was in support of Teresa at the funeral. Nor did he care how Mrs. MacGyver felt about his lackadaisical participation, since he owed her nothing, unlike Teresa to whom he owed the world.

His whole world in fact.

He sighed when he thought of her tears the night before, tears caused by him. She felt he would never truly reciprocate the depth of her feelings because he would always be in love with Angela first and foremost.

She was wrong. Yes, he still loved Angela, and Charlotte, too, but it was love based on 'what could have been'. Teresa was now.

Mrs. MacGyver began to sing as she tried to stand so Patrick rose and helped her to her feet. The priestly procession made its way off the bema. Mass was over.

One source of amusement for Patrick was the collection of looks Mrs. MacGyver garnered as they crossed the quad, heading for the administrative offices, whenever she was asked about the charming "young" man off whose arm she was hanging. The old woman then got a case of the giggles as she explained to him in whispers how the tongues would wag at the Ecclesiastic Support Sisters meeting where volunteers got together to discuss services needed in support of St. Michael's. When Patrick suggested they could pretend they were dating, he worried afterward that the force of her laughter was going to do her in, especially since she was fighting so hard to suppress it.

"Patrick, it is nice of you to attend with me," Mrs. MacGyver said as they walked. "I could tell yesterday that you really didn't want to."

He flashed his disarming smile, as opposed to his sincere one. She bought it.

"You read me like a book, Mrs. M. I didn't realize you were watching me so closely."

Her cold-tinted cheeks deepened their rosy color and she grasped his forearm.

"And today, you just wanted to stay with Reese and take care of her. Bah! People with hangovers need to be left alone."

A chuckle burst from him. "Yes, I'm afraid she got a little carried away last night."

"Drowning her sorrows. I did the same thing the night my husband died. Her troubles are worse than mine were, having two family members die and then have to worry about a baby. She's allowed to get sloshed."

"Well, I'm sorry we woke you when we came home last night."

She made a hissing noise and waved her hand dismissively.

"I was still up. Always watch the news. What else is an old woman going to do on a Saturday night?"

_Obviously look out the window and snoop on the tenants._

"We should have taken you to the bar with us."

Mrs. MacGyver screeched with laughter. "Oh, you are a saucy one, Patrick. It's just as well you didn't. Then you'd be carrying both of us up the stairs."

She released her grasp and placed her arm around his waist. He jumped a little.

_Did she just touch my ass?_

He pulled away and warned playfully. "Don't get fresh with me, Mrs. M. I don't think Reesie would like it."

Again she screeched with laughter. "Oh, Patrick!"

* * *

After promising the world to the rummage sale organizers, Patrick got them to agree to pick up the truck-loads of items on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. By then, he and Teresa should have sorted the apartment. He hoped, anyway. The amount of things she had set aside in the kitchen 'keep' pile was disheartening. He was afraid she was going to get too maudlin about blenders and old pots.

On the way home, they stopped at a grocery store where he picked up items that would help with Teresa's recovery while Mrs. MacGyver did her regular shopping. The delay irritated him because he wanted to find out if Teresa was okay, but he didn't make an issue of it. He could have called but if she were sleeping it would have awoken her.

Back at the apartment, he entered the living room to find silence. Boxes had been added to the stacks he'd placed by the front door. He recognized her handwriting on them.

"Teresa?"

"In here." Her voice came from the kitchen.

When he entered, she was seated on a kitchen chair in front of the open refrigerator, head and shoulders practically inside.

"Glad you got your appetite back," he said, "but if I'd known you were _that_ hungry, I would have brought you a sandwich."

She sat up and tossed a cleaning rag into the sink. Then she grinned at him. "Ha ha. You funny."

He shrugged, grinning in return. "Looks aren't everything. You could like me for my personality and quick wit instead."

Her face twisted a little as her smile faded, but then it bounced back as she stood. Crossing the two steps that separated them, she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him. Feeling surprised, he set the grocery bags on the counter and held her in return.

"Thank you, Patrick. You really took care of me this morning."

"I did my best for my best friend," he said, kissing the crown of her head. "Are you feeling better?"

"A little," she admitted. "I probably could have gone to church if I'd tried harder to get out of bed."

"Well, you certainly didn't need to worry about lightning strikes aimed at you. I saw quite a few worse sinners than you in church today; including one who I'm certain had beaten his wife this morning. He didn't get struck."

"What?" she said, pulling away from him. She looked so appalled that he couldn't bear her reaction.

"I'm kidding," he lied, forcing the memory of the female companion's furtive looks and swollen lip from his mind. With effort, he washed the disgust away with it. "So… you got a lot done here."

"Mm hum. I would have done better, but I have to go slow with bending over. I almost lost it a couple times, although I managed to get two crackers down. Taking a nice hot shower and brushing my teeth also helped."

"You should try to drink some of this," he said taking a bottle of sports drink from one of the bags. "And then get some more sleep. That's probably the best thing."

"No, I'll be all right." She took the drink and set it back on the counter before rummaging through the bags he set down. "Standard Sunday morning fare," she smiled. "Eggs, bread, ginger, clear soda, sports drinks; hangover remedies."

"Well, I'm not going to let you suffer."

Her gaze rose to meet his. "You should. Nobody made me drink to excess."

"Well…that's really only half-true, but yes, I suppose there is some sort of life-lesson involved here."

She chuckled and started to pull the items from the bag to put into the fridge. He stopped her, turning her toward the doorway. "I mean it about going back to bed. If you can get some REM sleep, you'll feel a hundred percent better. Besides, Mrs. MacGyver told me that Tommy and Annabeth used a storage locker down in the basement. I might as well go down there and sort through it. Probably bicycles and boxes of baby pictures, but at least it will be quiet for you while I'm working down there."

She looked over her shoulder at him and then turned back, grabbing him in a tight embrace. "You've done nothing but take care of me this whole trip, Patrick."

"Unbelievable, right?" he chuckled, returning her hug. "For once I'm not a high-maintenance burden to you."

Her gaze rose to his, seeming to bear her soul. Gratitude and affection stared up at him, turning her cool green eyes from the appearance of a woodland pond by moonlight into a vast ocean by warm, dawn light. He couldn't resist their depth so he plunged in, bringing his lips to hers.

Her kiss was warm and wonderful, the soft lips still minty and fresh. When her tongue met his, it caressed him in a slow, sensuous dance between his teeth, making him hold her tighter. She inhaled deeply through her nose and tensed, so they both withdrew. No doubt suffering a hangover would not facilitate the enjoyment of their first encounter… but soon. He'd make love to her soon.

He released her, staring into those wonderful eyes. Understanding stared back.

"I…I think…I…"

"We'll talk later, my love. Go rest."

Still she stared. Her lips moved only a little as she murmured "'My love'?"

He turned her again and gave a very light push to get her moving. "Also, I'll make a few more calls to Annie's phone list, letting…letting people know."

"Okay," she said, heading down the hall.

"Feel better," he said.


	31. C31 - Safe

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

A great big thank you to** Cumberland River Relic** for the idea of bribing "Culp" and with what item to bribe him. You sure know your stuff, CRR!

* * *

**Chapter 31**

After changing out of his suit and into his workout clothes, he called a few names on Annie's phone contact list. Then he took some boxes and headed to the basement.

The room was nearly full but very well organized, evidently by Annie and Jared, since Tommy's bedroom where Patrick slept was an explosion inside a garbage dump. Patrick probably would be more comfortable sleeping in the storage locker than amongst the mix of fast-food wrappers and discarded junk mail that littered the floor of the bedroom. Most disgusting was the dirty boxer shorts under the bed, although he supposed it could be worse. It could have been Hustler magazines or partially eaten sandwiches.

After examining the contents of a few cartons, he was reasonably sure they contained what the labels identified: summer clothing, newborn clothing, books, pictures – the usual stuff for tenants living in an apartment too small for three adults and a baby. After clearing it with Mrs. MacGyver, he used the rest of the basement to make his standard piles of 'donate', 'keep' and 'ask Teresa', putting the donate pile closest to the exit door to the back yard.

He hummed a little as he worked, occasionally singing the words "When I go to sleep at night, you're always a part of my dreams…"

It was going to be great openly wooing Teresa until she agreed to marry him. And of course, he wouldn't give up, no matter how long it took. Not that it would take long. Once she realized what his goal was, she'd give in right away, knowing how tenacious he was. It happened all the time.

Letting out a sardonic chuckle, he stopped and lolled his head back.

_Don't be an idiot, Jane. You don't want to continue to take this woman for granted. It would be the second biggest mistake of your life. Haven't you learned your lesson yet?_

Yes, he did learn his lesson, but old habits are hard to break. He knew part of his external charm was that overweening confidence which fooled people into thinking that he knew exactly what he was doing and that he had it under control. It even fooled Teresa and the team once in a while, although usually she was the first to emerge from the 'spell', marked by the words "What the hell, Jane?" on her lips.

He stepped back into the storage room and brought out another box, this one marked "six to twelve" in a somewhat shaky, female handwriting that didn't match Annie's. Based on the light weight of the carton, he deduced it was hand-me-down baby clothes, so he set it in the 'keep' pile for further examination and sorting.

How would their working relationship change when they returned to Sacramento? He would gently push her and not so gently push Bertram into getting the vacant Special Agent in Charge position offered to her. Bertram seriously owed it to her, and besides, the gap in the command chain was exhibiting itself in diminished close rate. Not for Teresa's Special Crimes Unit but most definitely for other units within Major Crimes. The leadership was missing, leadership that Teresa could easily provide.

Another box marked "six to twelve" in that same unidentified script. Must have been a friend who just had a little one. It was good that someone was giving the young couple a hand. It was clear from what he found on the computer that the entire household was struggling financially. Again he added to the keep pile for checking later.

His thoughts returned to Teresa and her possible career change. There was some uncertainty with his whole plan. Yes, she'd whip them into shape in no time. Without Red John taking so much of her time, she could use her field savvy to enhance all of Major Crimes and connect with the agents under her. And if she needed feedback of how things were going in the ranks, he would be there to update her on potential problems.

Moving yet another heavy box marked in Jared's handwriting as 'books', Patrick chuckled at the thought of his new title within CBI: Special Spying Consultant to Special Agent Lisbon.

But would Teresa be happy as a bureaucrat? That was a real question. She sure did love her guns and taking down bad guys. Maybe getting 'stuck' in her office, looking over monthly manpower reports could be a fate worse than death.

But it would allow her to be a good mother to Daniel because she'd be home every night – or nearly every night – and if he and Teresa ended up living toget—

"Whoa!" he said aloud when he reentered the room.

It looked like a safe under more baby clothes boxes. He threw the cartons off and tried to move the safe but it was bolted into the concrete floor.

"Damn it, Tommy!"

He got on his hands and knees to stare at the lock. He played with the knob, turning it to feel any tumbler indicators. He'd read about safe-cracking techniques but it was not one of his skills. His hearing and his fingers were not deft enough, even for a simple fire protection box like this.

But there was someone who did have the skills. He hurried upstairs to retrieve his phone. After a quick consultation of his memory palace, he dialed a number he hadn't needed for years.

"Your dime, so speak!"

"Culpepper? It's Jane. I have a job for you."

"Jane? CBI Jane? You asshole. I ain't for hire to you, dude. Last time I worked for you, I ended up with a broken nose and a black eye."

"Yeah, and the last time I hired the likes of you, I paid for a botched job. You owe me."

"Owe _you_? You owe _me_, you moronic bastard. And I'm not going to jail again for your bungling."

"Listen, listen! It's not anything illegal, and it will help a four-month-old orphaned boy find a home with someone who loves him."

The phone went silent except for a sharp intake of breath. After a few moments…

"What's the job?"

_I'll be damned. It worked._

"My boss Teresa…her little brother and her niece died in a car crash four days ago, leaving Teresa with a baby to take care of. There's a safe in the storage area and I'm pretty sure there's a will in it determining Lisbon as—"

"Lisbon? She's the one who hit me, yeah?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Damn."

"Uh…yeah, but she's gentler with babies."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And if she's legal guardian, Donald couldn't be in better hands."

Okay, so he changed the boy's name a little…

"Or tougher hands," Donnie Culpepper said.

"She'll kick anyone's ass who tries to harm the boy."

"Oh, I can see how that would be true….Okay, what's the job?"

"I just need instructions on how to crack the safe."

"Huh. Over the phone."

"Well, yeah, unless you happen to be in Chicago."

"No, I'm still in Sac. But I have a friend…how close are you to Berwyn?"

"Maybe ten or fifteen miles."

"Hmm, a bit of a distance for charity work. Tell me about the safe. Button or knob?"

"Knob."

"Brand?"

"Off brand. _Security Sentinel Services._ Model 27Jx57."

"Not familiar with it. Is it a safe or just a firebox?"

"It's a safe. Tommy bolted it to the concrete too."

"Damn. Went to a lot of trouble for a cheap box, but generally those cheap models are all built the same. Do you have a good drill bit? You could make a 1/4" hole above and slightly right of the dial, dribble in half ounce of sulfuric acid with a glass eyedropper, then wait 15 minutes. Should open right up."

"I don't have a drill or sulfuric acid, and I don't want to take a chance at damaging the stuff inside."

"What's in it?"

"If I knew that, Culp, I might not need to open it."

"Whatever, Jane. What _might_ be in it?"

"I told you; the wills that determine little Donald's future…and probably some life insurance papers. Maybe a couple of baseball cards or something."

"Baseball cards? Really?"

"Why?"

"Well…since I was a kid, I've been looking for a vintage Nolan Ryan card from the 1969 New York Mets World Series Champions set. It's kinda…kinda important."

Jane's vision lost focus as he accessed his memory of the cards he'd looked at in the apartment. _Bingo_.

"Donald Culpepper, it's your lucky day. I have one of those, just for you. But only if you can help me."

The phone was quiet.

"Hello? Culp?"

"Okay, let me call Ingrid and I'll get back to you."

The phone went dead.

_I can't believe I just put Teresa's hopes in the hands of a professional thief. Maybe I shouldn't mention it to her…_

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	32. C32 - Emotional Status Change

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thanks, Cumberland River Relic, for your beta support of this chapter.

* * *

A/N: There may or may not be a supplemental chapter to this one rated "M". Have gotten busy and not been able to concentrate on it. So sorry.

* * *

**Chapter 32**

Something woke Teresa. A nudge or a poke or… something.

She smacked her dry mouth a little as she opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. The light was wrong. It was afternoon?

Oh, yeah…she was recovering. Damned vodka tonics. Thank God the spins had passed and the headache was a vague memory of pain. The nap was really helpful.

"Are you gonna wake up, sleepy head? I have some news to share."

Shifting her gaze, she looked at Patrick where he sat next to her, leaning back against the headboard. He slid down until he was lying next to her, smiling in that self-satisfied way he had when he knew he'd done something exceedingly well. There was something inexplicably sexy about his triumph. It brought a wonderful spark to his eye.

"Hi," he said, turning onto his side and bracing his head on his braced arm.

"Hi," she said, not sure what else to say.

"How are you feeling? Still hungover?"

She sighed deeply and access herself a moment. "No…I don't think so. Still a little dry, though."

A playful smile filled his face and he leaned over to kiss her lightly on her lips. "Seem nice and moist to me," he whispered.

Pillow talk with Patrick Jane, she thought…but without the sex first? Leave it to him to do things his own way.

She caressed his cheek, then moved her hand to his temple and through his hair. With only a small pull, she brought him closer and kissed him deeply. His warm hand came to rest on her stomach and slid over until his arm stretched across her abdomen. Then he pulled her closer, a short, passionate groan escaping him as her chest pressed to his. Fingers snaked through her hair as he tilted his face to cover more of her lips.

She couldn't get enough! His sweet kiss, those solid muscles under that long-sleeved t-shirt… and a growing erection stiffening against her thigh as their bodies pressed together. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, it was so clear!

But then he softened the kiss to a stop, and she wondered what was wrong.

"I'm a good enough mentalist to know where this will go," he whispered, rearing his face back a little without releasing his embrace. "And Teresa, I want to make love to you in the best possible way…"

She examined his beautiful eyes. They were warm and sexy and…yes, full of love. Never before had his true emotions reflected so fully in his eyes.

"But…?" she asked, afraid of the answer. The driver's license ID picture of Angela Jane – the only photo Teresa had ever seen of the woman besides horrific crime scene images – flashed into her mind. She wondered if she'd always lose him to his phenomenal memory made more intense over eleven years of psychological torture by an insane killer. It wasn't his fault that part of his heart was eternally tied to his first love.

"Buuuuut…" he said, a playful tone and a childish tweak coming to his lips. "When I share my news, you're going to forget all about the raging hard-on you're giving me, and the last thing you'll want is to get naked with me. Although you might consider doing the last part just because you're beside yourself with gratitude."

News? Well, it wasn't thoughts of Angela driving him to distraction, because if anything, his erection was firmer than ever. Without realizing it, she had slipped her leg between his, but when she tried to move it back, he hooked his leg around hers. She studied the happiness in his eyes for a moment. Realization brought a smile to her lips.

"You found them?" she asked. "The wills? You found them?"

He laughed joyfully. "God, I love how smart you are, Teresa Lisbon. I think your brain is the first thing I fell in love with!"

She gaped at him a moment, struggling with choosing which revelation to deal with first. Surely he hadn't intended the second, so she chose the first. "Where are they? What do they say?"

"They say that Teresa Elizabeth Lisbon can only have guardianship of Daniel Thomas Vogelstein if she spends the night making passionate love to the holder of the wills."

She laughed – almost sounding like a giggle to her – and ran her arm down the contours of his muscular back. "Then it's your lucky night, Patrick Jane."

He laughed too and loosened his embrace.

"Okay, you know it doesn't say that you have to make love to me in order to be awarded custody of Daniel," he said, grinning broadly. "And you know I wouldn't trade Daniel going to a good home for anything, so let me—"

She shut him up by capturing his mouth in another kiss. Sometimes he just talked too much.

* * *

As they lay together, recovering their calm and resuming their peace, Teresa listened to the strong thump in his chest, marveling once again at his inner strength. She had suspected that he would be an excellent lover and she was right, but how he excelled was almost indefinable. He knew when she needed a gentle caress and where she needed it. And when she wanted a little force mixed into his passion, he sensed that too. He made her feel like she was the luckiest woman on the planet because no man on Earth cherished her like he did.

He heaved a sigh that ended with a contented hum. "Teresa, I love you," he said. "I have loved you for years. I wish I could have told you."

"I understand," she said after a moment. "Your loss was still too fresh."

"My…loss?" He squirmed around until he was out from under her and lying with his face even to hers. "Teresa, I'm talking about Red John. He would have targeted you even earlier if I'd let on how deeply I feel for you. I was too afraid to face the idea of him killing you or even knowing that his plans would deepen. It was simple cowardice of the consequences."

For the first time that she could remember, she couldn't meet his gaze. "Well… and you still…never mind."

"You said the same thing yesterday."

She gaped at him. His face held that same curious, expectant look he got when they were interviewing suspects and all he needed was to confirm his theory.

"I guess we have to talk about this, Teresa, although I really thought you understood completely." He placed a light kiss on her lips. "Yes, of course I still love my family. They represent a happy part of my life. But…well… they're dead. It's time for me to accept that my life has changed and my love for them has, too. It's still strong… but sometimes it feels…empty. It makes me lonely to think of them and I can't continue to live a lonely life when there's such love inside me that should be shared." He paused. "It needs to be let out. I have no choice anymore.

"My love for you is alive. It will change within me and heal parts of my wounded… soul… as needed, and on top of that it will continue to grow."

Against her will, tears welled in her eyes. He pecked her lips and rested his forehead against hers.

"It's hard to admit because it's a hard truth," he whispered, "but it fulfills a special place in me and makes me whole like nothing else ever has. My love is for the beautiful soul that brings joy to my every breath. Teresa, I love you."

Finally her tears escaped and she nodded. "I love you, too, Patrick. I truly do."

He kissed the tears from her cheeks and brought her into a tight hug.

"I'm not a perfect man, but I'll try to be a good partner to you every day."

Perfect man. She didn't want a perfect man. She wanted someone who made her laugh intentionally and by accident. Someone who occasionally fumbled and tripped yet somehow turned it into a joyful dance. Interpretive dance, she thought, chuckling to herself.

"What?" he asked, releasing her to look at her face.

"It's just funny to hear a handsome guy like you, with those gorgeous eyes and that hard body, and… and the way you brought me off like… well, like you were feeling what I was feeling and knew what put me over the top…I… to hear you say you're not perfect is just… weird."

"Ah," he said. "Well, I like to think I know some of what you're feeling when you're writhing and gasping like that."

Now she knew she was beside herself in joy because she caught herself giggling.

"So are you going to cause me to writhe and gasp again soon?"

"Oh, yes, especially since I have now successfully seduced you without resorting to the sophomoric technique of taking you out to dinner."

"Yeah, instead you…hey! The wills! Did you really find any of them? What do they say?"

His grin seemed to change from amusement to pride.

"Wow, I made you forget them entirely." He released her to turn toward the nightstand where he grabbed a sheaf of papers. "All three: Thomas Seamus Lisbon, Annabeth Teresa Vogelstein and Jared Dantrell Vogelstein. Plus Tommy had life insurance, just as I suspected."

She sat up, grabbing the papers from his hands.

"Well!" he said with indignation. "I guess the romantic afterglow is out the window."

With jaw dropped, she froze at the sound of disappointment in his voice. When she looked at him, however, he was still grinning.

"I'm teasing you, my little vixen," he whispered. He pecked her lips. "You're right to be curious about what the wills state, but you're wrong to be worried. Both Jared and Annie's list Tommy and then you as guardian in the event of their deaths. Tommy's life insurance lists Annie then you. Tommy's will bequeaths everything to Annie, then you. Everything comes back to responsible, competent Big Sister slash Badass Aunt Reese. The hearing tomorrow will be a breeze."

She flipped through the papers, stopping at the staple dividers and scanning the titles on the first pages.

"They were all counting on you," he continued, "and you came through with flying colors. No more than what you expect from yourself."

His lips brushed along her bare shoulder as he traced his fingertips over her spine. The shiver through her caused her whole body to shudder with delight.

"Patrick, stop," she sighed, lolling her head back.

"Stop being so delicious and I'll stop tasting you."

"I need to read this."

"And I need to bask in your sweet love again."

She rolled her eyes, feigning irritation. Actually she was flattered, but she really needed to know what the wills said exactly, even though she trusted what he'd told her about it.

"Patrick…please. You're distracting me."

He moved her hair and blew lightly on her neck, causing her to giggle and squirm.

"Jane!"

He dropped her hair and scooted away.

"I'll…just…get ready to go to dinner."

"Dinner?"

"We have to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"Finding the wills. Finding each other. Finding pillows that we both like."

She collapsed a little over the wills, laughing. _Pillows…_

He leaned over her to kiss her before climbing out of bed.

"I have the perfect place in mind," he said as he picked up his discarded clothes from the floor. "There used to be a fantastic tapas restaurant at LaSalle and Chicago."

"River North…okay…"

"Let's hope it's still there. Authentic Spanish tapas, fantastic paellas, delicious sangria...they had…"

She tuned him out as she read the first will which happened to be Jared's. It was short and dated just two months before. He didn't have a lot of assets: a few US Treasury bonds, a Rolex that he'd inherited from his grandfather – but he gave it to Annie, then Tommy, then her Teresa Elizabeth Lisbon. That was the same order listed for custody of Daniel, except there was another name, Ofira Rina Joffe, identified as Jared's great aunt.

She flipped through Annie's wills to provisions; she was final option there also, except this Aunt Ofira.

Who was Aunt Ofira?

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	33. C33 - Public Display of Affection

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for his extraordinary help with this and the previous chapter. CRR, you're so generous with your time.

* * *

THIS IS FAIR WARNING: Although containing nothing extremely graphic, this chapter is borderline "M" because it's adults talking about adult things.

* * *

**Chapter 33**

Patrick could tell she was having second thoughts. Guilty thoughts.

It's only been four days since the crash that took her family, and already she had found happiness. With _him_, of all people.

Guilt is a complex thing. This was something he understood all too well, having suffered it intensely for over a decade after spending the prior decade dancing gleefully around its pangs. His heart had gone from an unencumbered conscience to bearing the weight of twenty years of remembered sin punctuated by brutal murder. He was lucky something didn't snap from the recoil.

Except that it had, resulting in six months in a padded cell.

But that wasn't Teresa's trouble at the moment. She'd led an upstanding existence all her life so the past wasn't a problem. The _present_ was. And it wasn't her fault that these vast waves of change were crashing into her all within the same four months. Red John gone. Her team suffering growth pains. Patrick finally treating her as she deserved to be treated. These were all things to be celebrated.

But not the loss of her family and the orphaning of a little baby.

At a stop light, he reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said, squeezing back. "I'm looking forward to this. All that throwing up has left me hungry."

She flashed him a grin which he returned.

"But no sangria, eh? I'm glad you're feeling better."

The light changed and the vehicle in front of them took off. In deference to Teresa, Patrick eased onto the gas and proceeded through the intersection.

"So…you're not…regretting that we…that we're…"

"No!...Are…are you?" she asked.

"No! I'm happy. I'm ecstatic, but…I'm not sure about the timing of this all."

"You mean should I be so happy even though my family is dead and I'm probably going to be a mother by this time tomorrow?"

Her voice was sharp and a touch higher-pitched than usual. He shrugged.

"Yes, actually."

She grunted a little, but because of the heavy traffic, he could only glance at her. She took a deep breath and he heard a sniffle.

"Patrick, right after my mom died and my dad started…getting drunk and b-beating me and my brothers…that was the worst time of my entire life. And I-I was alone for that. I had no one I could talk to. Nobody could help me and tell me it would all be over soon. Because of that, I never felt strong enough to deal with it. I probably wasn't but somehow I made it through."

She paused, gathering herself.

"This has probably been the…second worst time of my life, but I haven't had to…but I'm not handling this by myself….I'm probably better able to take care of things now, because I'm older and more experienced… but I haven't been alone for any of it."

She gave a sardonic laugh. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shake out a handkerchief to use, one he'd tucked into her pocket before they left.

"In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if this wouldn't have been worse than when I was a kid if you hadn't been here."

"But I _am_ here. You can't think like that."

"I can, Patrick. I can imagine trying to get through this without your help…and it just makes me even more sure of you. It's like I read someplace once: 'Hard times will always reveal true friends'."

He couldn't help but smile. "That sounds like something off of Facebook." He glanced at her to find her smiling back.

"Probably where I read it," she admitted. "But it's still true."

He shrugged, not sure how he felt about a platitude copied off social media. "So, does it say anything on Facebook about how you should stick with a man who makes you twist and moan during Sunday afternoon lovemaking?"

Okay, that was a sound he wasn't accustomed to but could definitely get used to – an embarrassed Teresa Lisbon's joyful giggles filling the car.

"I thought I was _writhing_ and _gasping_," she said.

"That's right, that's right," he conceded calmly. "Wednesday afternoons are 'Twisting and Moaning Day'."

She burst out in full laughter and brought his hand to her lips to kiss. "This is going to be hard to explain at work. 'Why are Jane and Lisbon gone every Wednesday afternoon?'"

Patrick had no doubts the team would quickly figure it out, based solely on the goofy grins on their faces every Thursday morning.

"Teresa, that does remind me of a question I have about returning to California. I don't want to presume or to rush things, but…am I moving in?"

"Uh…I…uh…"

"I mean… we're already living together. Kinda hard for me to help you take care of Daniel tomorrow if I have to move to a motel because there's a baby in the house."

"Uh…I…uh…No, we're _staying_ together. There's a big difference."

He was going to point out that moving into her apartment would require about as much stuff as he had with him in Chicago, but the edge on her voice told him not to push it.

_Still has commitment issue, our Teresa does._

Not that he didn't, but now there was a child involved. And Teresa's peace of mind and happiness, too. And of course his own happiness.

"I defer to your comfort level, my dear, and whatever you feel is best for Daniel."

She inhaled sharply but said nothing. In fact she didn't speak until they reached the restaurant and had turned the car over to valet parking. As he held the door for her to enter the building, she took his arm and pulled him to the side.

"Patrick… I think… that I'm not ready to live with anyone. I've lived alone for so long; I'm not sure I can deal with having to compromise. It's just what I'm used to."

He studied her face as well as he could by the limited streetlight. If he was completely kind, he'd drop it, but in this case, the truth had to be faced sooner or later. What was the point in making excuses for herself?

"Teresa, somewhere in all that turbulent emotion, you already recognize that having Danny in your life will change everything you've ever grown accustomed to. Rather than fight it, take advantage of the upheaval to set up some new rules to govern your existence. Let's move in together. Let's get a nice little apartment that we both like; it will be affordable if we're both contributing to rent, right? It can be close to work so if you're forced to hire an au pair or a nanny, you can stop home during lunch to check on Daniel. It will be easy that way."

"Why are you so eager to move in with me?"

"You have to ask that after this afternoon?"

She scrunched her face and playfully slapped him on the arm. "I'm not a whore and you're not a gigolo, so stop that."

Her joke was so out of left field, he had to laugh at it. "Well, that's one way I can help with rent, anyway."

She laughed too. "You know what I mean. You don't want to trade sex for rent money."

"Are you sure?" he asked, moving closer. "I mean, if Sunday afternoon is 'Writhing and Gasping Day', Tuesday could be 'Buck and Scream Day'."

Every time she took a tiny step back, he took a step forward until she was backed into the doorway of the closed business next to the restaurant.

"Friday can be 'Make the Neighbors Pound on the Wall Yelling at Us to Knock It Off Day'. We could call Monday 'Recap of Sunday Afternoon Day'."

Then she stopped because she was up against a corner. He smiled broadly at having her there without her fighting it.

"Or we could call Sunday _night_ 'Recap of Sunday Afternoon Day'," she said snaking arms up his chest and wrapping them around his neck.

She pulled him down, mashing his lips into hers, biting his lower lip until his tongue slipped past to hers. He sucked greedily, inhaling deeply with the excitement of it all; his memory flashing to that afternoon when her smooth damp skin slid against his and her cries of pleasure filled his ears.

And this kiss was 'forbidden' since neither of them was accustomed to public displays of affection, with the valet runners thirty feet away. Patrick felt thrilled, like reliving his first serious kiss thirty years before with little Victoria Stewart. They'd snuck behind the semi-trailers that transported the Tilt-a-Whirl and the generators for the carnival. Victoria's brother Liam later beat the shit out of him when he found out, but Victoria was pretty for being fourteen years old, his same age at the time. It was good practice for when he met Angela. And the bruises from Liam were worth it. Oh, so worth it!

Her fingers raked through his hair as she hummed lightly. She pressed her body closer to his and lifted her leg to rub it against his.

How did she do that? He was immediately hot for her, wanting to scoop her up and return to the apartment to make love to her again. That slender body, the knowing caresses in places that sent shivers of delight down his spine, the tight squeeze as –

She withdrew her kiss and moved her arms from his neck to his waist.

"If I weren't so damned hungry for something to eat, I'd say 'screw it, let's go home'," she said, her voice low, husky, smoky. "I'd love to see a few more magic tricks."

"Magic tricks?"

"What you did earlier? It was magic."

It was the oldest female con in the book – an appeal directly to the male ego. Of course it worked on him, despite his experience as a conman which identified her comment for what it was. Now his urge to please her increased ten-fold, not wanting to disappoint her.

But they had to slow down. Love with her was too precious to rush through. He wanted to savor every moment and treat the blossom of love with the respect it deserved.

"Well, I don't want you to pass out… because I have this thing against unconscious lovers… so let's enjoy this delightful restaurant and make an evening of it. Then we can make love the rest of the night."

Yet she didn't remove her arms and instead ran her leg against his once more. The alcove was too dark to see the gleam in her eyes, but he knew it was there.

"Aw, come on, Teresa. I can't feed you if I'm …feeling anxious."

Finally she laughed and pulled away a little. "Yes, I can feel your 'anxious'. Your anxious is very hard." And her hand moved from his back, into his overcoat and onto the fly of his slacks where she caressed firmly.

He sucked air and stepped back. She laughed even harder and moved around him, forcing him to follow.

"Cruel, woman. That was so cruel."

* * *

_**To be continued**_


	34. C34 - W-I-N-N-I-N-G

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who has been leaving reviews all along – you're great! - but I want to specifically thank Jane Doe51 and guest Thalia for their extraordinary posts.

* * *

Also, I want to express my deep gratitude to **Cumberland River Relic** for helping me slog through these mid-manuscript doldrums, the quagmire that forms beneath the feet as the frenzied enthusiasm of starting a story turns into the sleepless nights of brainstorming trying to keep the story going. Thank you very much, CRR! You're terrific!

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**Chapter 34**

Teresa didn't wait for him to open the restaurant door, instead hurrying in and stepping to the hosting station where a hostess took her name. Patrick caught up.

"I'll get you back for that," he murmured in her ear as they headed into the bar to wait for their table.

"I'm looking forward to it," she purred, giving him a sly smile.

He led her to the only available stool at the bar. After she settled in, he stepped close as if protecting her from the jostling crowd. The place was full of twenty-somethings prolonging the weekend before having to return to work in the morning. For a Sunday night, the place seemed as lively as yesterday's bar, although being close to Downtown, it was a younger crowd.

Patrick didn't loom over her, but it felt incredibly caring, almost doting. Other men had taken that stance with her and it always seemed sexist or posturing. With him, it felt natural.

"I guess I'm safe from inappropriate touching in here," he said before waving to the bartender.

"You _may_ be right," she said, quirking an eyebrow playfully. She lifted her hand to his chest and ran her hand down the row of buttons.

He intercepted her hand as it left the fabric, pushing it away before closing a couple of fasteners.

"I'll keep my coat buttoned."

"Coward," she said.

He glanced at her, appearing to fight a smile coming to his face.

"You don't fool me, Teresa Lisbon. The only reason you did that is because it's dark outside and no one could see it. Normally, you get red-faced walking through the lingerie department at Sears."

"What? I do not!"

"The kidnapping we investigated at the Stockton Mall a few years ago? You intentionally walked the long way around to avoid going past that intimate apparels store. The one with the frilly, wired, lacey things in the window."

She gawked at him. Well, that was embarrassing. Was it _that_ obvious that she specifically chose the far entrance? Yes, it was true that she'd used the other door but mostly so she wouldn't have to listen to comments among the cops that were there. As a supervisor she was obligated to report anything that could be construed as sexual harassment.

It had nothing to do with her feelings about that sort of thing. Really. It didn't.

"You're blushing," he whispered, right before the bartender stepped up. In a voice she didn't recognize, he said, "Yeah, the lady heerah will havva ahange spritzah, please? Non-alcohol, please? Aaaaaannnnddd…" He drew it out as if considering.

Her gawking continued but for a different reason. Why was he speaking with an accent? An over-the-top, exaggerated, stereotype of an accent?

"Yeahuh, I'll havva Fahstah's? Ya have Fahstah's? No? No Fahstah's? Okay? Then…a wine spritzah f'me? Ta."

When the barkeep stepped away, he grinned at her.

"What's with the Australian accent?" she asked.

"Being a goof. Keeping you amused. Distracting myself from your beauty."

_Being a goof._ Yep, when Patrick was happy, his imagination went into overdrive and his silly streak came out. The 'distracting from your beauty' statement seemed evidence of it.

"Well, don't expect me to attempt one. I keep slipping back into my Southsider accent ever since I came home."

"I noticed that. I considered taking it on myself to make certain you still understood me when I speak."

"Ha ha, funny."

"Trying to keep you amused," he said.

He studied her face a moment, his grin turning into an admiring stare. Gently he caressed her hair.

"You look lovely this evening." His voice was smooth and deep, as though he was trying to be as convincing as possible. "I meant to tell you earlier but your beauty left me tongue-tied."

"Uh…"

_Tongue-tied? Jane never gets tongue-tied. _I'm_ the one who's tongue-tied._

The heat made her face tingle as she blushed. She closed her gaping mouth and looked over the bar, at the rows of bottles lining the back wall. The sensation of his fingers twiddling her hair on her back shot signals through her body that intensified the desire burning low in her belly.

"Thank you," she said at last.

When she finally looked at him, he was still smiling gently, continuing to study her face. The warmth in his eyes spoke volumes about his heart, and yet she wondered how much to believe him. By his own admission, he was a multilayered con-man and he'd lied to her so many times, despite the apologies later combined with promises to never do it again.

_And yet…when we made love this afternoon_…

He opened his mouth to speak again but the bartender arrived with the drinks.

"Ah! Ta, mate!" He brought out his wallet and handed over a twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change? Cheers from Patrick, a visitor to your fair city."

The bartender grinned as he took the twenty and bobbed his head, nodding at the agreeable arrangements. Then he pointed and winked. Teresa thought she was watching a rerun of the television show _The Love_ _Boat_ with Isaac the bartender greeting them.

"Okay, I get it now," she said after he'd gone. "You want him to remember us when we place an order from the table."

Patrick raised his eyebrows and smiled, his eye focus floated around like he was watching a butterfly.

"Why didn't I think of that? What a good way to ensure fast service in a busy restaurant!"

"Clever," she said. "That should help you hurry through dinner."

"Oh, I don't want to rush. The food here is worth savoring and besides, it's being spent with you. No, I just want to guard against any hassles."

Studying his face did no good. A man who could read emotions as well as he could was adept in keeping those indicators from his own face.

_And yet those eyes…he looked so…so real, so lain bare as we were making love…I trust him. I do._

God, it felt foreign to her. Patrick Jane's lover! It didn't seem real!

"Speaking of hassles," she began, desperate to change the subject. A romantic Patrick was hard to absorb. "What do you think of the person listed on the will?"

"What?" he asked, leaning in, closing the space between them.

_He thinks he's so clever. I know he can hear me. He was hearing me in the tavern yesterday too. Did he think he invented it? Women use that ploy all the time._

She let him play his little flirting game. There were other concerns, ones more important to the future. Not just Danny's future, but her future happiness with him. He really wanted to be guardian over a child again, possibly just to prove he could do it successfully. What happened to Charlotte was an aberration, not a norm. Everyone else knew that but he needed to prove that to himself, and maybe he considered Danny his last chance. But without the baby, would Patrick be happy just being her lover?

She couldn't worry about that. Guardianship of Danny had nothing to do with Patrick's history. Danny was her family, and as much as she loved Patrick, what he wanted was an insecurity she couldn't deal with right now. There was plenty for her to feel insecure about on her own.

"Who is Ofira Rina Joffe, the aunt listed on the will after me?"

"Don't know. Your backup aunt, I suppose. You shouldn't worry about it."

"What if she contests her place after me?"

Casually he stirred her drink before handing it to her. As he watched her sip, he shrugged, picking up his own.

"You stopped the most notorious murderer of the last hundred years. I doubt this Aunt Ofira can top that."

_I shot and killed a man four months ago. Is that the act of the perfect guardian for a baby? _From her mind she forced away the vision of Red John falling backward with a bullet hole between his eyes. For a moment she was filled with the same stomach-churning adrenalin that she'd experienced back then.

"Who do _you_ think she is?" Patrick asked her.

"Other than being Jared's aunt, I don't know who she is," Teresa said. "Annie never mentioned any of Jared's family to me. I didn't think anything of it. Why would Annie and Jared pick me over her?"

"Maybe she was the proverbial wicked step-aunt."

"Why put her in the will at all then?"

His hand slid over her shoulders and he drew her to his chest in a brief hug before pushing her back to meet her eyes.

"Teresa, it was a joke. You need to stop questioning your suitability to care for Danny. Everything will be fine."

For a brief moment – so brief, she wasn't sure she saw it – there was a flash of uncertainty, but his face was taken over by a determination she hadn't seen since the manhunt for the last Red John minion. She almost felt sorry for this Ofira woman; Jane looked ready to take her out of the picture entirely.

Time to change the subject.

"How do you think Danny is doing?"

It worked. Sadness washed over his face replaced by that distinct 'Since the truth won't help me at the moment, try this story on for size' expression. She wasn't fooled. He had doubts.

"I'm sure he misses his mom and dad and his grandpa," he said carefully. "But he'll soon learn that Aunt Reesie and Uncle Patrick love him and will take care of him just as well as his parents."

"'Uncle Patrick'?"

"Well…yeah. I'm claiming the title. I mean, he's going to have an Uncle Kimball, an Uncle Wayne and an Aunt Grace, so why not an Uncle Patrick?"

"Uh huh," she said, allowing the skepticism to show on her face. "And this has nothing to do with the topic from earlier?"

"You mean, about moving in? None whatsoever. I have faith you'll see the wisdom of that. We've been great partners so far. It can only continue to be smooth sailing from here on. Right?"

"Maybe." _Dammit, he was awfully persuasive. Why was he so damned right all the time?_

"I'm not sure I understand what the big deal is about moving in. We spend half our lives together anyway. When is the last time you didn't spend a twelve-hour day at the office?"

"Yesterday," she said quickly.

He smirked and then laughed. "Okay, you only half got me on that. No, you weren't in the office but you _were_ with me for more than twelve hours so your answer is inapplicable to the situation."

"Well…that's half a victory, anyway. In your little memory palace, you can go ahead and remember that I won that argument."

A knowing look came over him. "If that's the worst of our arguments, being roomies should be a breeze. Right?"

In her lap, the pager flashed and vibrated. Thank goodness! She was in danger of losing her half-victory. At least now she could change the subject.

"That was fast," she said, waving it a little.

"Interrupting your victory celebration," he said, grinning.

She met his gaze and smiled smugly. "I'll take my prize later."

He stepped back and took her hand to help her down from the barstool. The gleam that came to his eye was almost scandalous, filled with lust and zeal. "I think we'll both be winning."

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	35. C35 - Clear

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for acting as beta reader. Invaluable help as usual.

**Chapter 35**

The food was marvelous, as perfect as Patrick remembered. Seeing Teresa experiment with the 'foreign' flavors and combinations made the whole experience as exciting as his first time eating there. He teased her about her Midwestern tastes just like he always did, but she enjoyed the food so much, she didn't put forth much reaction.

"Hard to believe this place is in Chicago," she said, looking around the low-ceilinged, intimate dining room with Spanish tile décor and crowds of young sophisticates.

"There are some extraordinary restaurants in this city," he said. He ate an olive to clear his palate before choosing another tapas frias, this time his favorite, the patatas ali-oli.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing with her fork at the dish he picked up.

"I guess you could call it a red-skinned potato salad."

"Really?" she asked. The surprise on her face was utterly charming.

He placed half on her plate and took the rest, listening to her stifled groan as she took a bite.

"God, that's so good! I know you're a gourmet cook. Do you think you could make this?"

"I'll make it every weekend we're not on call," he promised before eating a forkful. The mix of garlic and oil and potato was just right.

She giggled like a school girl, causing him to watch her beautiful face as it lit with laughter. Just when she seemed to get herself under control, she looked at his face and started all over again. Some thought was setting her off.

"Okay, you have to let me in on the joke. I want to enjoy it too."

Finally she was able to speak, although it was spattered with suppressed giggles.

"I was just thinking that… you wouldn't need to act as a gigolo or a sex slave to earn your room and board, just be a galley kitchen slave."

Very funny. Heartening, too, if she was thinking of their pending cohabitation in terms of humor.

"Well, then you're definitely going to have to move. If I'm going to be a galley kitchen slave, you're going to have to get a galley kitchen to chain me to."

"You're right," she said. "Maybe I can find a place where the bedroom is next to the kitchen and get the best of both."

"That would be a mighty long leash," he said in mock skepticism.

"You'd pick the lock anyway," she said.

"No doubt." He poised his fork over his small plate and stabbed it into a bite-sized potato.

"Okay, no leash, then. So how do I keep you bound to me?"

He froze. So that was it! Her doubts of success were very obvious, but he was certain it was doubts about him. When he raised his gaze to her, he found her staring at her plate, her lips tight in a thin line across her tense face. Awkward.

"Same as you have for the past eleven years, my love."

The fright in her eyes faded when she looked at him. He took it as a good sign.

"You're a beautiful woman, Teresa. I don't think you appreciate how lovely you are with your large green eyes and that cute little button nose. Oh, and those lips! I've longed to kiss them for such a long time." He glanced at the tremulous smile that broke through her concern. "But all that beauty compared to your unique blend of kindness, intelligence, and humor? There _is_ no comparison. I had my moments of insanity during the pursuit for Red John; I own that completely. But when I regained my senses, it was always because of your compassion and your humanity and your friendship. I want to enjoy that special quality for the rest of my life."

Alarm returned to her face. He'd pushed it too far, confessed way too much. From insecurity that he wouldn't be true, to pushing her too much to commit; it just came out, like his mouth now belonged to his heart instead of his head.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he said. "I know I shouldn't go here, but… but if the time comes for a deeper commitment, Teresa, you know that—"

"I do know," she said forcefully. Then in a slightly 'sing-songy' voice, she added, "You're glad to be my friend and you hope nothing would ever prevent us from always being friends. Blah, blah, blah."

His turn to be alarmed. What did she think he was driving at? He watched her as her gaze darted around the small plates on the table and then around the room. Finally her gaze rose to the ceiling, her eyes rimmed with tears.

"My love," he said, pushing a plate aside and reaching toward her, "I think I haven't made myself clear. I'm not distancing myself. Just the opposite actually. I'm presuming too much about our future together. To be lovers for the rest of our lives would suit me very well. I truly love you."

Instead of taking his hand, she wiped her tears, still not meeting his gaze.

"Lovers," she whispered.

"And more than that…someday…when you wish."

She gave a little gasp and looked at him. Under her breath she said 'really?' Then she looked away again, the tears finally coming loose. Grabbing an unused napkin, he dabbed at her cheeks.

"I can't believe I'm making you cry again. I'm sorry, Teresa."

She half-choked, half-laughed, taking the napkin. "It's okay. Really."

"Are you, uhm, happy with the prospect?"

"Of more than lovers? Yes, I'm happy about the idea. I'm… not sure when that day will come, but it is something I would wish."

He released a sigh of happiness, too relieved to try to hide his emotions.

"But…" she began.

He froze again.

"Can…can we slow down? A little?" She looked at him, bashful and even a little embarrassed. "I'm getting a little overwhelmed by going from…"

He glanced around the room, then studied the table.

"Do you want to go someplace quieter? So we can talk?"

Almost in despair, she looked at the food still in front of them.

"We just started eating," she said. "I'm still hungry. This is delicious."

Her declarative statements in her disappointed tone of voice made him smile. Things must be okay if she still had her appetite.

"I'm glad you said that. Let's eat."

* * *

Food was a weakness for both of them, especially good food. After the emotionally trying few months she'd been through and the weight she'd lost, her enjoying the Spanish tapas was a lovely sight to him. They kept the conversation light and quirky, touching on everything from teaching Teresa how to affect an Australian accent, to making guesses about the hidden stories of the people in the restaurant using their body language.

They held hands as they waited for the valet to return with the car. Butterflies of anticipation fluttered in his stomach at the thought that maybe they would talk about marriage and maybe they would just make love all night. Either was quite a wonderful prospect.

_Both it is, then._

They continued to hold hands as he drove toward Lake Shore Drive, not speaking, just exchanging glances and smiling. Suddenly she pointed to a street.

"Turn here. I think there's a place we can talk. When I was a kid, we used to hang out at North Avenue Beach."

Following her directions, they ended up in the parking lot for the North Avenue beachhouse. He turned off the lights but kept the car running for the heat.

"So…" she began.

"So…" he answered.

"Wanna neck?" she asked brightly.

He laughed. God, he loved her.

"We'll neck at the apartment where we can get comfy. Do you still want to talk?"

She stared at the window a moment before nodding.

"I just want to ask…how are we going to handle working together?"

When he didn't answer, she looked at him, with lips trembling and worry lines creasing her forehead. Once or twice her lips moved as if on the verge of begging his reply.

"Teresa, I will do whatever you wish. I know you're a stickler for the rules, and if you want me to move to a different unit or even to a different segment of DOJ altogether, I'll do it."

A heartfelt sigh escaped her. "Consultants are handled the same as confidential informants." She said it in such a way that it was evident she was merely reminding herself, bolstering her resolve. "The PSU guidelines state that relationships should remain professional."

"Personally, I think that if you told Bertram that the fraternization rule shouldn't apply to CBI consultants' relationships with CBI agents, he'd look the other way. You have a lot of clout at the moment." He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "How many of us consultants are there, anyway? And how many are in love with their bosses?"

"It doesn't matter!" she protested. "When Cho was in a relationship with Summer Edgecombe, the consequences almost cost Cho his career. He risked the success of the Gang Unit's operation just to get Summer's charges dropped. And that was years after they'd broken up!" Then she lowered her voice and looked away. "And there's no telling what I wouldn't do for _you_. What haven't I done already?"

_Touché, my dear._

"So what do you want me to do?" he asked. "I can keep 'us' a secret, but only if you can too."

The shy smile on her lips made him smile too. "We both know I'm a terrible liar."

It turned his smile into a laugh. "Yes, you are, darling lady. Too honest for your own good, sometimes."

"But at the same time, I have to be honest with myself, too."

She wrapped their joined hands with her other hand. The caress flowed up his arm, filling his already very full heart. When her loving gaze met his, he felt himself melt into those gorgeous eyes, bound to her just a little more.

"You're a dangerous man, Patrick," she said, sounding mournful. "You can turn any weakness to your advantage. You have those gorgeous eyes that I could get lost in and forget myself completely. Your smile makes me smile when I should be stern. Your arms around me just make me give in when I should be fighting to remain in control. How can I possibly resist kissing you when you do some fantastic brainwork that saves the day? How can I stop from running to you for a reassuring hug when something terrible happens and I just want to escape the world for a moment?"

"Why stop yourself?" he asked. "We can be discreet. How many times have we been alone together in the Aerie – perfectly innocently – and no one disturbed us? In fact, you're the only one who has ever been up there. Everyone else knows it's off limits…even now that Red John is dead."

She stared thoughtfully a moment, and her sad expression turned to exasperation.

"See? That's just what I mean. That sounded so good for a moment and I was seriously thinking of how that could work. But I shouldn't think of ways around the rules; I should be thinking of how to do my job within them."

She pulled her hands away and turned forward in her seat.

"You're right," he whispered. "You've struggled for so many years to build your career, whereas the only thing I've ever really worked hard at is being a pain in the ass. Again, Teresa, I ask you: what do you want me to do? Compared to when Red John was alive, I have no need to stay with the CBI. I've only continued consulting because I got to work with you. If I have to choose between consulting and living with you, then please! Let me chose you every time."

Despite the small gasp that escaped her, she didn't look at him.

"Just remember, however, that my new career as your kept man can't cut into my gambling time spent raising Daniel's college tuition."

_Then_ she looked at him, whipping her head around. Upon reading the smile on his face, she burst out laughing.

A flashlight shone in through a backseat window of the rental car, dancing crazily over the interior. Patrick looked in the rearview and then the sideview mirrors. A patrolman? He rolled down the window.

"Good evening, officer. Can I help you?"

Another officer appeared on Teresa's side. She rolled down her window as well.

"Good evening, folks," the cop said, a tall black man with a gray-peppered mustache. The cop on Teresa's side was young and his uniform was bundled up against the cold wind off the lake. "The beachhouse is closed for the season. Can I ask what you're doing parked here?"

"Just negotiating a price," Patrick said with a shrug.

Teresa gasped and smacked him. "Jane!"

The two patrolmen looked at each other and shone their flashlights onto their faces. "Shut off the engine and step out of the car, please."

Now he'd done it. He was very sorry he'd done it. No doubt they'd be delayed in getting home and falling into bed together.

_Me and my smartass mouth._

"Sorry, Lisbon," he said as the cop tried to open his car door. He hit the 'all open' button for the door locks and shut off the engine.

"Answer them truthfully, Jane," she said as she exited from her side.

He followed his cop back to the squad car nearby, while Teresa followed her cop to the front of the rental. They were intentionally being separated.

She was correct in her advice. The two cops would compare each of their explanations why they were there and if the stories didn't match up, it would mean more trouble. The truth was appropriate and, for once, expedient.

"May I see some ID, sir?"

Patrick looked him up and down while pulling out his wallet. Beat cop by choice. Loved the Big-Fish-Little-Pond feeling. Married a long time or had recently gained a lot of weight, although based on the fit of his uniform and its age, Patrick suspected his wedding band was dug into his skin by the passage of time, not recent diet changes. It was hard to tell because of the limited light and his dark skin. His leather coat made it difficult to assess his weight but the officer was about 247 pounds and he was holding in his stomach. Otherwise, Sergeant Wilson was at ease because this was just a routine check.

"My name is Patrick Jane. I'm with the California Bureau of Investigation. My friend Teresa Lisbon and I are in Chicago because her brother and her niece died on Wednesday night. I'm helping her settle the estate and pack up their apartment. We decided to take a break and had dinner at the Café Iberico over on LaSalle. It was noisy and crowded, so we left to find someplace quiet to chat for a while, someplace that didn't remind her of her family. She's taking the deaths very hard."

Wilson stared at Patrick a moment before looking back and forth between the license and his face. Patrick pulled out his CBI identification and handed it to the cop.

"Okay," Wilson started to say before the other officer hurried over.

"Hey, Arnie! Do you know who these people are?" he asked with excitement.

Patrick gave the partner a quick assessment as well, starting with 'Pervengi' on his nametag. Rookie, despite his age, evidenced by the newness of his uniform and his lack of emotional control in front of potential criminals. Aged around thirty-three, maybe thirty-four? Of Polish or Lithuanian descent. Married and with a young child. Former delinquent or maybe even a gang member but now an enthusiastic law enforcement officer.

"No, who are they?" Wilson asked, his voice rough and impatient.

"They caught Red John the serial killer in California." He held up a driver's license and CBI ID. "Jane and Lisbon."

Wilson's gaze sharpened as he looked from the IDs to Patrick's face. Inwardly, Patrick groaned.

"Seriously?" Wilson asked.

"I was reading about it when it happened. I saw her picture. That's the agent who was in charge. She actually shot him!"

Patrick allowed himself a smirk. "I bet if you asked for an autograph, she'd give you one."

Pervengi looked hopeful while Wilson scowled.

"You're that profiler guy who was helping them, right?"

"Uh, yeah. That was me. The profiler."

"What do you see about me?"

Well, that didn't happen very often; most people didn't want to know. Last person to ask him that was Mashburn, and wasn't he surprised with the answer!

"Oh, I don't profile people without gobs of money. Sorry. Can Agent Lisbon and I be on our way now, please?"

Wilson stared at him, unsure if he was being mocked. "We're going to run your IDs. Please return to your vehicle. We'll get back with you."

Patrick plastered on his "what a wonderful audience" smile and gave Wilson a curt nod as he turned away. Pervengi returned to Teresa, telling her to have a seat, they'd be back with her in a minute. As she turned, he stopped her and asked for an autograph.

It took Patrick everything in his power not to burst out laughing.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	36. C36 - 'Meh?

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

_In case anyone is confused, I had to change "Corporal Wilson" into "Sergeant Wilson" because Chicago PD doesn't have a rank of Corporal. My bad. So sorry. Look at it this way; he got a promotion!_

* * *

**Thanks to Cumberland River Relic from whom I blatantly stole the descriptor "Jane-being-Jane" one of his favorite notes about any number of Jane-ism I've included in scenes CRR has beta'd.**

* * *

**Chapter 36**

After the ID checks came back clean, Chicago's Finest asked them to leave the area. Patrick was about to argue, but Teresa took his wrist with her tightest grip. He winced a little but shut his mouth and started the car.

"Thank you, Sergeant Wilson," she said. "Sorry to put you through all this trouble for nothing."

"Not a problem, ma'am. Drive safely. And we're sorry for your loss"

A lump formed in her throat and she nodded curtly. When she glanced up at Patrick, his look of guilt and contrition made her eyes water again.

"Have a good night," Patrick said before putting the car in gear.

Traveling along Lake Shore Drive, Teresa gave him a light smack on the arm.

"Negotiating a price?" she demanded.

"Sorry. It seemed funny at the time."

"Humph."

Actually it _was_ amusing when she stood back from the situation. But dammit, CBI always had authority issues with local cops and her spine had automatically stiffened with seeing the Uniforms standing there. She'd felt both conciliatory while elite at the same time and she resented how he threw the balance off with his naughty schoolboy antics. Her reaction was knee-jerk.

_Sorta like his, I suppose._ Nothing rubbed Patrick the wrong way as quickly as authority figures.

"For such an intelligent man, you sure are dumb some times."

"And for such an intelligent woman, you don't question authority enough."

"I question authority," she protested. "I just use common sense when I do so."

The 'humph' noise he issued sounded identical to hers.

"It's true," she said. "First, you have to be sure that they don't have the right to be in authority before you open your mouth."

"Meh."

_Meh._ She hadn't heard that in such a long time. It seemed like forever in time and a completely different universe ago, when in fact it was probably during their last case less than a week ago. Funny how it represented 'Jane-being-Jane' as he waited for his little plan – whatever it happened to be – to come to fruition. A single syllable. A non-word which filled a dictionary with its varied meanings. She had them all memorized.

Meh._ 'Who needs evidence when I have a hunch?' _Meh._ 'They'll drop that lawsuit when they realize it will cost more than they'll win.' _Meh._ 'At least I took the firing pin out before he tried to fire the gun at me.' _Meh. _'I'll make sure they come to their just desserts in the end.'_

The situation seemed so casual! She was driving through Chicago with her best friend who was no longer her best friend, but instead was now her lover. They were on their way to her dead brother's apartment to have sex again in her dead niece's bed while the fate of her great-nephew rested in the hands of a judge who might be suffering from a bad Monday morning.

Meh.

His hand slid across the center console to her elbow and down her arm where he wrapped his fingers around hers.

"I love you, my dearest. I'm sorry I upset you. Again."

The world came into focus again: the dirty yellow tint of the mercury vapor street lights, the few cars around them, the lake splashing against the sea wall, McCormick Place ahead…

"Wait, where are we going?" she asked.

He jerked his hand away, gripping the steering wheel in a slight panic.

"Dammit. I missed our turn onto Congress Parkway. I was so absorbed in…"

Patrick Jane made a mindless mistake? What the hell?

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled into the right lane and slowed down, heading for the next exit.

"Sorry, Teresa. I got so absorbed with how to make it up to you, I wasn't paying attention."

"No, no, we're okay. Exit onto the Stevenson. We'll catch the Dan Ryan that way instead."

He followed her directions without question which was another surprise. How often has she battled with his analytical mind about the best way to do something, especially regarding driving? Examining him for signs of conscious restraint revealed nothing beyond concentration on the road.

"Make what up to me?" she asked as they exited onto 35th Avenue. They were blocks from the apartment.

"You know. Almost having us dragged to the police station? For delaying getting us home?" He paused and added softly, "For failing to keep you out of the blues for just a little while longer."

"What?" She looked around and pointed to the parking lot of a drug store. "Pull in."

Once stopped, Patrick placed his hands in his lap and lowered his face. She almost felt sorry for him but she was too vexed and confused for pity.

"Okay, what did that mean? I understood about being a smartass to the Uniforms; that was just wrong but you have a serious problem with that so I'm not surprised. But how are you responsible for how I feel? And why can't I feel sad? I just lost my family. My _whole_ family, including my two living brothers who made it clear that they don't give a damn about me."

He nodded slightly but didn't look up.

"And why shouldn't I be allowed to feel guilty? I'm happy when I should still be devastated!"

"Forgive me, Teresa…but we're battling the same army here. I'm happy too, and keep fighting the guilt for being so."

When his gaze rose to look at her, the intensity caught her breath.

"Teresa, I could quote Shakespeare and compare you to a summer's day. And I could make grand statements about the beauty of thine eyes that warms me like the dawn's first glow…but why? Rather than play another game, I want to be straight with you. I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, a life I never thought I'd be allowed because I was determined t-t-to…"

He swallowed hard and looked down again.

_Kill Red John,_ she finished for him.

"Anyway…control over this situation has galloped well out of hand, which is another reason I don't want to make a drama of all this. I'm sorry that it came out when you already have so much to deal with. Who knows? Maybe I'm unconsciously taking advantage of your vulnerability t-t-to make certain you don't think too hard about why I'm unsuitable as more than just your friend."

Only once had he ever seemed vulnerable and unsure. Even then, he kept his edge of defiance, daring her to make something of the fact he'd spent time in a mental hospital. This was a depth of Patrick Jane she had never seen before.

"Patrick, you're right that this is beyond our control. I don't know when I last felt so carried away by events. I'm not sure I like it." Heaving a deep breath took a lot of tension from her chest as she stared at him. After a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he turned his face away. "But I do like that our relationship has changed. I'm glad I finally understand how I feel about you and how you feel about me. In the middle of everything that has happened, at least that's something clear and definite in my life.

"But I've lost my brother and my niece. I'm going to feel sad. I have to, despite how wonderful your love for me is."

"I tried not to tell you," he said, whipping his face around. "I tried to hold it in and simply just keep being your best friend, but…" His gaze darted around her face as his tense expression softened into a look of love that she'd never seen on him before. Then it vanished and he looked away again. "We can't unsay things, Teresa, but like you requested, we can go slow."

She looked away also, staring at a customer leaving the drug store.

"I'm going to pick something up," she said, releasing her seatbelt and gesturing toward the entrance. Cold air flooded the SUV as she opened the door. "I'll be right back."


	37. C37 - Scamps

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thanks so much, Cumberland River Relic, for beta-ing this chapter and asking the right questions.

* * *

**Chapter 37**

Patrick watched her enter the store, her stride displaying her usual confidence and self-assurance, despite her words about her state of mind.

God, he loved her. But when he most wanted to be there for her, he was her biggest source of hardship and discord. Had it been that much different with Angela? Was he ever a good partner to her? His love for her had been as real as it was for Teresa, but Angela had to deal with an ego four times as strong and twice as unrepentant.

They were different women. Angela's strengths were similar but never had she told him to go to hell, never demanded he stop patronizing her. Angela kept him in line with soft words and significant looks, and she kept him going with sincere praise when she saw his bluster for the insecurity that it was. Strangely enough, her influence over him was a passive sort of confidence, a surety that he would never go too far.

Teresa made _certain_ he never went too far, anticipating his next move with cleverness and even a little wicked anticipation. That was part of her attraction. Even now, as she was trapped in this interaction of keeping an eye on him in the midst of her personal tragedy, she managed not getting swamped by them. She took care of others using the strength that kept her stable through all manner of stormy seas.

And she put him in his place, just as effectively as Angela ever did.

Closing his eyes carried him back to that afternoon: her warmth in his arms, her passionate moans mixed with his as she culminated. Her emotion was so powerful, permeating even his self-absorbed state that orgasm brings, infusing his core with her love.

_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. _

Shakespeare must have written that knowing a woman like Lisbon would someday exist. Surely no one as special as Teresa had been on the planet before.

Only in his head could he smell her sweet scent. Even using Annie's shampoo and soaps, it still meant Teresa Lisbon to him, the source of love and everything else that was good in his life. She was the only woman besides Angela he'd ever made love to and meant it with all his heart.

He couldn't blow his relationship with her. Apart from what it meant to him, he loved her too much to put her through a disappointing romance. From then on, he would only be his best for her.

The car door opened and a plastic bag rattled in the wind. She set the bag down alongside the transmission tunnel and climbed in, closing the door against the cold.

"I have something to make you feel better, something to make _me_ feel better, and something to make _us_ feel better. First…" She reached into the bag and pulled out a chocolate bar, handing it to him.

"Ooo, dark chocolate and coconut," he said, flashing her a grateful smile.

"And Oreos for me, since you ate the last one," she said.

"Oh, and of course the last one has the most flavor."

"Absolutely."

He gave her a huge grin and tried to look into the bag when he placed the chocolate back in for consumption later. "So what did you get to make _us_ feel better?"

Lightly she bit her lower lip as she reached in again. Out came a small box marked Magnum extra-strength condoms. Then she brought out a box of contraceptive sponges.

"Ah! Yes, that condom we found in the nightstand drawer was…"

"Scary cheap and old," she finished for him.

_But we used it anyway. Sometimes passion dictates iffy choices._

"Yes," he agreed. "Thank you for buying brand-name ones. I do feel better. Condoms are not something you want to cheap out on. It will cost you more in the end."

She returned both items into the bag and moved it to the back seat before fastening her seatbelt. As she let out a small sigh, he took her hand.

"Teresa, regarding our relationship…I don't know what the future holds, but whatever it is, I want us to face it together. I'll do my best for you."

Her lovely eyes opened wider and she stared at him a moment before nodding.

'I know you will, Patrick. You'll forget yourself sometimes but you'll still mean it when you say you love me. I love you too."

The moment she moved toward him, he leaned forward to meet her. It was a wonderful kiss, warm and heart-felt. When she pulled back, she glowed with happiness.

"Let's go home," she said.

* * *

It was a magical night full of passion and tenderness, but the moment that Patrick would remember forever was at the end when they settled in to sleep. Teresa pulled the comforter up over their sated bodies and she snuggled to his chest, rubbing her cheek against his right pectoral. As he caressed her forearm that lay across his stomach, she hummed lightly once and snuggled closer.

"You make me feel so safe," she said sleepily. "Could you hold me, sweetie?"

He hadn't realized what he needed until she said it, but her faith in him swelled his heart.

"Thank you, my dearest," he said, bringing her closer, pulling her arm fully over his chest. "I am delighted to hold you close to me."

"Good," she said, her voice low and drowsy. "'Cause it's where I want to be."

With her warm body pressed to him and her steady breathing the only sound in the dark room, he quickly fell asleep, contented to know that life was more perfect than it had ever been in his entire life.

* * *

He woke several times during the night, marveling at the comfort from the feel of her in his arms. It was incredible and – if he was brutally honest with himself – a little more blissful than when Angela would snuggle to him. But he had taken Angela's presence for granted, and as he tightened his hold around Teresa, he vowed never to do that again. Yes, Red John was dead and his new love wasn't in danger from him, but she was a cop and Patrick could lose her to any number of violent offenders.

Glancing at the digital alarm clock on the dresser, he sighed and ran his hand down her bare back. Just after six. Court was at eight-thirty. They'd done nothing to prepare baby stuff in case they got immediate custody of Daniel: car seat, diaper bag, blankets against the cold, warm clean clothes. For all his assurances to Teresa that they would, he was actually certain that protective services hadn't done a good job tending the boy.

He didn't want to get out of bed. Being with her was glorious!

Teresa shifted a little, her hand moving to his chest where her fingertip caressed his sparse chest hair. He'd been certain she'd be disappointed with his lack of hairiness. She was attracted to somewhat hirsute men, and other than his reddish-blond five o'clock shadow that annoyingly showed up right after lunch, his fine light hair was scarce and hard to see.

_Stop it, Jane. She loves you. Don't question your good fortune!_

He drew a deep breath at the self-admonishment. Yes, she did love him, who knew why.

It was easy to say why he loved her. She was perfect. Not too soft, not too hard. Intelligent, funny, compassionate…and his best friend.

Moving carefully, he tried to move out from under her. Instead her arm moved over him holding him close.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

He chuckled and relaxed his body back into her embrace.

"I was thinking I'd get your coffee started for you, my little caffeine addict."

"Oooo, you tempt me to let you go, but I'm also addicted to your kiss." She gave a sexy purr and held him tighter. "Sex or coffee, sex or coffee…"

"Coffee and then sex in the shower," he suggested. "That way you'll be awake."

"Sex now would wake me up really well, Patrick." She lifted her face towards his, a knowing smile on her lips. He reached forward to kiss her and she met him. They kissed tenderly and then passionately, but when she slid her hand down his side, to his hip and then over to his growing erection, he grabbed her wrist.

"It's court day," he whispered after breaking off the kiss. "Seriously, my dearest, we have to get moving."

She gave a slightly wicked laugh. "I can't believe you're being the responsible one and I'm being the scamp."

He released her wrist, laughing as he climbed out from under the comforter.

"Believe me, I wish we were both being scamps," he said. Especially since having the infant in the house from then on was going to put a damper on opportunities to be so. He turned back to her, staring at her lovely face framed with a cloud of disheveled brunette hair. "You are wonderful."

"And so are you," she said, her grin widening. "That's why I'm addicted to you."

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

She laughed and threw off the comforter.

"I succumbed to that years ago, my mentalist. Now I just happen to love you."

Then she rose from the bed and scooted past him. "First bathroom!" she called as she exited the room. In a second he heard the bathroom door close. He laughed and went to Tommy's room to retrieve his pajama bottoms which he then put on.

"Cheater," he called as he went past the bathroom on his way to the kitchen.

"Make coffee," she called back.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	38. C38 - Game Changer

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Cumberland River Relic = Best. Beta-reader. Ever. That is all.

* * *

**Chapter 38**

Patrick never appreciated before what a penny-pincher Teresa was.

At 8:05 when they arrived at the Thompson Center where Department of Children and Family Services had their offices, Patrick turned into the public garage directly across the street.

"Don't park here!"

He stopped hard, hearing a screech of brakes behind him and then a series of honks. This was Chicago, after all.

"Why not?" he asked, checking his mirrors and waving.

"It's gonna be expensive."

He snorted and took his foot off the brake, continuing into the driveway. "Joliet Riverboat Casino is paying,"

As he took the check-in ticket, he looked at the slight worry lining her face. He'd never noticed this financial watchfulness before Baby Daniel came into her life. Now all he could do was pity her for the strain this was putting on her.

Her heart must have flooded with the memories. It had been hard work caring for her brothers, keeping them fed and clothed while just a college student living in a basement. No doubt she held two jobs and attended school full time. Although she'd been forced to grow up fast after her mother died, she had been way too young for the responsibility. It was traumatic enough to affect her more than twenty years, if her expression was any guide to him.

Seven levels up, they found an empty space. As Patrick put the SUV in park, Teresa triple-checked the paperwork and documents she'd put in the cheap attaché she took from Annie's belongings.

"I'll grab the bags in back. Do you want me to carry anything else?" he asked.

She mumbled to herself as she flipped through the case. "Wills…death certificate…social security cards…"

"Teresa?"

She looked at him blankly.

"It will be fine," he said. "Let's go."

After closing the flap and snapping the latch, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Should we bring the baby seat with us?" she asked.

"No. We can carry him to the car if need be." He released the back hatch and retrieved the diaper bag, putting the straps over his shoulder. Then he grabbed the other bag with extra clothing and a blanket before closing the vehicle. Taking Teresa by the hand, he led the way towards the elevator. "We should be there in plenty of time."

"God, I hope so. And I hope this is over quick. I can't wait to see that Danny's okay."

He pressed the call button and kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth so as to not smudge her lipstick.

"You know what this is like, my dearest. Don't be surprised if our 8:30 time slot is moved to 9:15."

The tension left her face temporarily as she smiled and looked from his face, down to his tie and suit, and then to his shoes.

"God, you look so handsome," she said, her voice soft and wistful. She set the attaché down and reached for the cheap polyester tie, straightening the knot and smoothing the fabric against his chest. "I wish you'd wear a tie more often."

He switched the baby clothing bag into the other hand and even though she'd just done it, he tucked in the medium-blue neckwear into his waistcoat. He was fortunate to find it among Jared's clothes, since it was the only option with his blue-check shirt and navy suit. Neither Jared nor Tommy had much to choose from regarding professional attire.

"Flattery will only get you into bed," he warned as the elevator dinged and the doors parted to a partially filled car. Based on the expression of a few of the passengers, his jest was overheard. He dropped the diaper bag off his shoulder into his hand and followed Teresa. "And no, ties will not become my regular attire."

"Mmm mm! Too bad," said someone behind him.

He looked around, trying to figure out which of the three women said it. To his amazement, they all smiled at him with challenge in their eyes. The two men in the car looked away. Patrick glanced at Teresa who was grinning in triumph.

"Female conspiracy," he said, adjusting his shoulders inside his jacket and facing forward again.

"Or solidarity," Teresa said smugly.

* * *

They passed through security without delay. After checking with the information desk, they were informed that their hearing had been delayed until 9:00. Patrick couldn't help the "I told you so" look he gave Teresa. In return, she rolled her eyes at him.

They stopped at the Starbucks for tea and coffee but the bistro tables in the nearby food court were all taken. Patrick led her back to the lobby level of the atrium where he'd see empty couches when they'd entered the building.

After they settled in, he waited for her to speak but she didn't. The lack of conversation wasn't unwelcome since the building was noisy with people arriving for work or appointments. And really, there was nothing to discuss. No doubt if he told her one more time that everything would be fine, she'd smack him until a security guard pulled her off him. The thought made him smile.

"What's so funny?" she asked, leaning toward him.

He sipped his tea and then set the cup down on the small table, pausing to clear the smirk from his face.

"Not funny; just pleasant." After a moment he said, "You know you look quite lovely this morning." The compliment sank in and the flush ran up her face. He leaned toward her in return. "I can't wait to get back to the apartment to make your hair all messy again."

How gorgeous she looked as her blush deepened! And interesting that as bold as she was in bed, she could still pull off bashful. His heart swelled with affection.

He sat back again and crossed his legs, looking around the atrium, letting her off the hook. To distract himself from the memories of making love to that beautiful woman, he analyzed people entering the building heading towards the elevators. Monday mornings brought together a wonderful mix.

The tardy attorney trying to finish his tie knot dropped his briefcase and swore loudly as he stopped to retrieve it, his already red face seeming to deepen its tint like a cartoon character about to blow steam out of its ears. Had the case popped open, Patrick would have approached and helped pick up the content just to be nosey about what the junior counselor was currently working on.

Then there was self-absorbed Hispanic business man dictating his opinion to the middle aged but very attractive Hispanic assistant. Obviously romantically involved, although neither was married and neither wished to be.

Through the handicapped-accessible door, a frail white-haired woman was being helped by her assistant. Her advancing multiple sclerosis confined her to the wheelchair and made guessing her age difficult. From the quality of the chair, Patrick guessed she was moderately wealthy, probably a widow of a rich businessman. On her lap was a tote bag with Hebrew characters printed on the side indicating Judaism. The assistant was a young, gay man who loved the woman like she was his kindly aunt. No blood relation but she was generous like he was her own son if the quality of his clothing was any indicator.

A poor, single mother hurried into the revolving door, catching Patrick's eye. She froze, her eyes widening as she took in the shiny glass interior of the massive government building. Despite now being indoors, she wrapped her thin coat more tightly around herself. Nothing about her surroundings welcomed the working poor, especially an under-educated woman of the streets. Patrick took pity on her immediately. He slipped his wallet from his breast pocket, removed a fifty, and folded the bill into a small square.

"Teresa, I'll be right back," he said, replacing his wallet and rising to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"Just over there. No mischief. I promised."

When she pouted a little, he bent over and kissed her lightly.

"Promise," he said sincerely before turning away.

Terrified though the young woman was, she didn't back away when Patrick walked up and spoke to her. At first she only stared at him with wide eyes, so he took her wrist and led her to the information desk. The sight of the young dark-skinned woman behind the counter must have seemed familiar enough that the young mother was reassured. In broken English she attempted to explain her situation. After several tries, it became clear that she was an immigrant from Gabon. Patrick spoke the few phrases of French that he knew and it was enough to determine they needed a French interpreter. After the clerk called a coworker, she thanked Patrick, assuring him they had the situation under control. He returned to Teresa.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Oh…she had her children taken away by well-meaning social workers and she'd come to get them back. But being originally from a small poor African nation, she got a little overwhelmed by…" He gestured to the large, echoing open space that reached to the top floor of the building.

"Uh huh. And what did you slip into her pocket?"

He turned to stare at her, pleased at her skills of observation. "Just a little money to buy lunch and a cup of coffee. Or about a month's worth of rice and vegetables to feed her family."

His jaw dropped as her eyes immediately watered. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, looking away. "I finished my coffee. Do you want to go up to the hearing room?"

"Uh…sure."

As he picked up the two bags, he watched her closely. She'd pulled back her tears but she wouldn't meet his gaze. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea that she saw him slip the fifty into the poor immigrant's pocket. He'd have to be more careful about her seeing him giving away Joliet Casino's money like that. The financial considerations of being responsible for Daniel were still bothering her, no doubt.

She requested stopping at the restroom, and then they continued to the ninth floor where they found a room filled with onlookers and a staff running around like an upset anthill. Teresa approached the clerk to check in and was tersely informed that 'the entire docket had been cleared for the morning and the 9am cases were pushed back to 3pm. Check in with the clerk in Room 914.'

Patrick and Teresa left the room and started down the hall when someone called 'Teresa! Patrick!' They turned to find Felicia Sohn hurrying toward them.

"I only have a moment," she said breathlessly. "We had a serious event yesterday – one of the big private fostering facilities had to be closed and it's flooded our department with cases to be reassigned…Anyway…Daniel's case has been rescheduled for 3:15. It looks like no one from the Vogelstein family has contacted us about his disposition so I'll be here to assist with the formality of transferring his custody over to you."

To Patrick's surprise, Teresa swayed toward Mrs. Sohn as if about to embrace the social worker. Instead she grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly, grinning.

"A case worker in California will be assigned to you, but again, it's simply a formality and should last only a couple of months, maybe half a year."

"Entirely worth it," Patrick said.

"Absolutely," Teresa chimed.

"Good. Well, I'll see you around three."

As Teresa and Patrick turned toward the elevator, the old woman in the wheelchair and her attendant were hurrying after Ms. Sohn.

"Excuse me, miss. Excuse me." The woman's wobbly voice cut through the hum of urgent activity. "I'm looking for my great-nephew's hearing. His name is Daniel? Daniel? He's a baby."

Teresa and Jane whipped around, staring with jaws dropped. Felicia Sohn's expression froze as if stopping herself from looking at them.

_Oh, thank you, Mrs. Sohn!_

He grabbed Teresa's arm and pulled her toward the old woman and to the side.

"Pretend to hug me," he whispered to her, wrapping his arms around her. "We need to hear this."

"Wha-?"

He gave her a squeeze, causing a small squeak. "Listen," he urged.

"Who…who is your great-nephew, ma'am? Do you have a last name?"

"Vogelstein! How many babies named Danny do you have?"

Teresa began to tremble in his arms.

"A few, ma'am, but only one named Vogelstein. May I ask who you are? I'm not allowed to divulge information to the general public.."

"I'm his damned aunt. How else could he be my great-nephew?"

Mrs. Sohn's face took on a tint of red and she stooped over the old woman. Again Patrick thanked her for resisting the urge to look at them.

"We understood he had no family except an aunt from California."

"Oh! Get out of my way," the woman said. "You evidently don't know a damned thing." She gestured for the attendant to push her toward the room Teresa and Patrick had been headed before Ms. Sohn had stopped them.

Felicia Sohn stared in mortification at Patrick and then at Teresa who turned to look. Then she shook her head and walked away.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	39. C39 - Too Much

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

New Mentalist fanfiction story called** I Remember You** by **Cumberland River Relic** – amazing opening chapter – go check it out: /s/9530369/1/

* * *

**Chapter 39**

Teresa's heart was going to explode, pounding like it was. She turned her eyes toward Patrick and before he masked it, she saw tragedy and heartache in his eyes, as though he too wanted to cry.

But like the conman he was, he tucked the truth away and gave her a neutral smile. It looked almost forced into serenity.

"We don't _really_ know who she is and why she's here," he said softly.

"No," she admitted. "She didn't say 'I'm Ofira Joffe and I'm here because I love my nephew and want to care for him the rest of his life'."

"Teresa…"

"You're always saying there's no such thing as coincidence, right?" Despite her need to scream at him, she managed to keep it in as a soft, quavering voice. "Do you think there are two babies named Daniel Vogelstein having custody hearings today?"

"It's not likely," he admitted.

She turned and walked toward the elevators.

"Dearest, wait," he called.

When she heard his footsteps behind her, she hurried her pace and ducked into the women's restroom. She needed to be alone, to cry in a stall if need be and maybe even pound on a wall or two.

The room was empty so she leaned up against the sink, shoulder to the stall panel, panting in suppressed rage.

Why, dammit! Why was God punishing her? Yes, she'd done some bad things in her life, but only for the sake of good! She'd shot a man dead but it was to prevent him firing his gun at one of her team. Or at Jane, who she knew was the goal for that sociopathic serial murderer that she'd killed.

And she was willing to upheave her entire career - the job she loved since she was an academy cadet - just so Daniel could be raised with a family who loved him. Someone who didn't consider him unacceptable because he wasn't born of the right mother or father.

The door from the hall opened and Teresa hid her face, not wanting some strange woman to feel awkward.

"Teresa?"

She whipped around, staring in shock.

"What the hell, Jane?"

"Not my first choice, Teresa, but I can't suffer this alone."

She studied the pain in his eyes, the worry and the mourning that seemed to reflect her own.

"Please?" he asked. "We'll find someplace quiet to talk…and commiserate."

It was unbearable to look at his sorrowful expression. With a slight nod, she pushed off the sink and followed him back into the hall and to the elevators. When a downward traveling car arrived, he took her hand and they entered together.

As they arrived at the lobby level, he leaned toward her and whispered, "No matter what happens, I love you, Teresa."

Why, dammit? Why say that to her right then? The lump in her throat was an instant tennis ball that choked air from entering her lungs. The tears came so suddenly, it surprised even her.

He led her out of the elevator and to the side, away from the flow of people leaving the car. After setting down the bags and taking the attaché to place next to them, he gathered her in his arms, holding her to his chest.

Once again, she was grateful that Patrick knew what to do, what she needed. She tried not to rest her face on him, fearing that makeup would mar his overcoat and his suit jacket, but he gently pushed her head onto his chest as she cried.

"Let it out, woman," he murmured. "It was wrong of me to imply yesterday that you shouldn't feel sad. Just let yourself have this moment of release. Then we'll plan our strategy for the hearing this afternoon."

"Strategy?" she exclaimed, looking up at him.

He pushed her head back down and rested his cheek against her. "Of course. We don't just roll over in this partnership. When have we ever in the past?"

His arms went around her again and he began to sway ever-so-gently, attempting to comfort her. He was right. Now was not the time to fold. What had she been saying all along? Daniel needed _her_, not some rich old woman who didn't have enough sense to be polite to the social worker who decided fate over a loved one.

Determination was the key. She needed to keep her resolve.

Patrick was also the key. She'd never known anyone able to remain as determined about a goal as he could, not even Cho whose military training instilled complete discipline in the man. Maybe she was feeling a little defeated at the moment, but Patrick was right. Get it out of her system for now and continue after the prize.

And even as she thought it, her tears slowed. Patrick was amazing. Again. He truly kept her going.

She lifted her head from his chest and stared into his eyes. Such hidden strength. More than anyone was allowed to see.

And generosity! How much had she taken from him on this trip alone? It seemed like every two hours she was crying about something, and when she looked, there he was with his arms open, sharing whatever he had for her to use when she needed it.

Or that poor mother in the lobby. It had been obvious the woman was lost and confused, but Teresa's response was not to get involved because she had problems of her own at the moment.

But that wasn't Patrick's response. He found out what the issue was and took action toward a solution. One simple step got that destitute mother a little closer to getting her children back. And then he made Teresa prouder by giving a little money to the woman. Thinking in perspective, it was a fortune to that woman, whereas for Teresa giving that kind of money to a stranger meant maybe she gave up her Thursday morning double espresso cappuccino for a couple months. The sacrifice of one luxury a week for her that she probably wouldn't even miss, versus hearing a baby cry because its stomach hurt with hunger.

And he didn't even think about what he'd done! How extraordinary his simple act had been! It made her sad that he didn't even know his value to her, to the memory of Angela and Charlotte, to all the people he'd helped over the years they'd known each other…To the entire world.

At the time, the slight guilt in his expression for his inability to avoid meddling had brought tears to her eyes. Trying to explain why to him would have been useless because he'd argue why she was mistaken. He routinely deflected praise directed toward him.

"I…I love you, Patrick." Had she ever said it first to him before? She couldn't remember. Hell, she'd stopped herself from feeling it even when it filled her heart the most. No doubt she never took the moment to share the words first.

"I love you too, my dearest."

Just a few moments before she wondered why God was punishing her. Now she knew it wasn't true; her blessing had come in the form of Patrick Jane. Now she was earning him.

And as she gazed at him, his pitying worry softened into such an adoring look, softer and more emotional than she ever seen on him before…except when he had been interacting with Daniel.

Pure love. The intensity was unbearable.

Taking a small gasp, she dropped her gaze to his lips and then his chin and neck, all the way down his chest…to makeup smudges on his light blue checked shirt and borrowed tie.

"Oh, god, Patrick, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed softly. "I messed up your shirt."

He looked down as well.

"Well, if that's a way to take the tears from your eyes, it's well worth it." The unending supply of handkerchiefs in his pocket produced another white square and he dabbed lightly but to no affect. Internally, she cursed her so-called waterproof mascara. He smiled in that benign, reassuring way he had as he touched the cloth to her cheeks. "Tell you what, let's grab a taxi to Michigan Avenue – Macy's or someplace – so I can get a new shirt and tie. Then we'll stop and have an early lunch someplace, since we didn't really eat breakfast this morning."

She forced a smile. It was the only thing she could manage.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	40. C40 - Blurted and Scripted

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

My beta Cumberland River Relic was such a tremendous help, I'm giving him credit as co-author of this chapter. He has a new story called** I Remember You** – amazing opening chapter – go check it out: www .fanfiction s/9530369/1/ (Cut and paste into your browser and remove the spaces, or just find Cumberland River Relic's link in my reviews listing and follow it back.)

* * *

**Chapter 40 (Co-authored by Cumberland River Relic)**

Holding his hand during the very short ride was assurance enough, so when they didn't speak, Teresa was contented to rest her head on his shoulder as the cab traveled the two blocks through downtown traffic. Something about his acting as normal – the darting attention as he observed their surroundings, the staring at the cabbie's license, his slight smile – all these things made the situation a little less daunting.

The store was just opening, and besides employees settling in and checking stock, the floor was empty. Patrick stopped often to admire items of clothing, furniture, housewares, sometimes sincerely, sometimes in jest, making her smile. At the menswear department, he grabbed a white shirt and a plain navy tie without examining them beyond the size of the shirt. He paid and then took her by the arm.

"Strategy lunch now?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling a mix of revulsion and hope. Not wanting to contemplate the worst case scenario, she also knew that they had to plan for it.

The Walnut Room didn't open for another half hour, so they walked through the store, once again stopping at the furniture department. Patrick pushed on the mattress of a king-sized bed display and waggled his eyebrows. She shook her head and laughed; his teasing to lighten her mood worked.

Then he took her to the living room display and settled on a sofa, patting the cushion next to him. When she sat, his fingers laced into the fingers on her left hand.

"Teresa…first thing you need to recognize that this great aunt is not a healthy woman. It is unlikely that a judge would grant custody to someone infirmed to the degree that she is."

"But…"

She stopped and stared. _Dammit, he's right. I'm over-reacting._

"But…why did you look so worried?"

"I am worried about _you_. I don't want this to be a fight. You're the aunt who really loves him. It should be a walk in the park."

Gratitude flooded her heart. Yes, she loved Daniel very much. It should be easy to prove that. And yet…he was lying. She could tell.

"That's not the whole truth, Patrick. You're not completely convinced that she doesn't have a chance."

His gaze wavered and then broke. He shook his head slightly.

"So what do we do? How can I convince them beyond a reasonable doubt that Daniel would be best off with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Teresa, please. Take a quick peek at your recent past. You rid the world of the worst criminal in California history. There are young women throughout the state who will live and fulfill whatever Destiny had in store for them because Red John is dead."

"Patrick, I shot and killed him."

"Cops do that to criminals sometimes. He's not the only bad guy you've ever taken down like that either. He just happens to be the worst and the most recent." Then he winked. "Besides you don't shoot _all_ of them. Some of them you just arrest."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, some of them I arrest."

"And your career has been otherwise spotless…except maybe when I appear on your record."

The scoffing laugh escaped her before she realized.

"Perhaps we should leave your part of my professional career out of the picture."

"Well, that statement just shows your wisdom. We could bring it up at the hearing. Right after outlining your illustrious career as a cop in San Francisco and your quick succession of promotion within CBI, we could say that you're very wise."

It was odd to hear him talking about her that way. Usually his view of police organizations was cynical and along the lines of 'not worth the paper that established them as law', so to hear him boasting her career proudly threw her off-stride.

"How can we make it a slam-dunk?" she demanded.

Then she looked at her left hand where he was mindlessly caressing the ball of her thumb with his thumb.

"What if we got married?" she blurted.

If it hadn't been such a loaded question, she would have marveled at the way he stared at her in stunned silence. That never happened. He moved his lips once or twice before he broke eye-contact, looking at her hand in his.

"Teresa, if I didn't want to marry you as badly as I do, I might be a little insulted that you want to use me in this manner."

Once again he met her eye. The pain on his face was a lightning bolt through her heart. What a selfish bitch she had been to even suggest it in such a context! God, he didn't deserve such thoughtlessness.

"But I love you very much. I will marry you for love even though you're willing to marry me only as a convenience. We both know there are five hundred instances where I heartlessly used our friendship in order to get a gag to work, so I expect you're overdue to use me in return."

Despite his tightened grip in an attempt to prevent it, she pulled her hand away and buried her face as she broke into sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't know what came over me."

His arm slid around her waist as he brought his lips to her ear.

"Sweet lady, it's all right. We both love Daniel and we'll do anything to get him."

A piece of cloth touched her hand and she choked a little on her laugh as she lifted her head. Yes, another handkerchief.

Actually, it was the same one. It had makeup smears on it from his wiping her face at the Thompson Center.

"Patrick, I'm truly sorry that I suggested that. I _want_ to marry you some day because I… God, I love you so much, but there have been so many changes in m-m-my life…" She wiped her face and stared at the handkerchief. "Like all this damned crying every twenty minutes. I must look awful."

With a little fear she looked at him, afraid of the pain that might still be there. Instead his expression was soft and understanding.

"Not awful at all…but you look a little ravaged."

The caressing circle on her back made her shiver a little with the memory of his sexual touch. His voice was low and seductive. It was the last thing she expected from him at the moment but somehow it was comforting to be reminded how turned on he had been by her last night and again this morning.

"I have a suggestion," he continued with the same tones. "Why don't you go to the salon so you can have your hair and makeup done? You'll feel better with a little pampering."

He stood and offered to help her up. When she stood, he wrapped her in both arms and held her tightly to his chest.

"Hang in there a little longer, Teresa. This will be over soon."

* * *

Be damned if he wasn't right. Maybe it was hypnosis that made her agree with him.

Teresa came out from the salon after a manicure, a facial, full makeup, a haircut and a slightly changed hair-style. Indeed she felt a hundred times better.

And when she stepped into the waiting area where Patrick sat, she felt a thousand times better when his jaw dropped and he openly stared in admiration. She couldn't recall any man ever being rendered completely speechless in her presence.

"Teresa… you look enchanting," he finally said as he stood.

His words made her feel like a school girl being picked up for prom, shy and awkward. Not knowing what to do, she half-shrugged, half-nodded and turned to the coatrack. He beat her there and picked up her coat to hold for her as she put it on. Then he put his on, all the while staring at her.

"Mr. Jane? Sign here please?"

Seeming to tear himself away, he crossed to the cashier, whipped off a signature and returned to her side.

"Wait, Patrick, you can't pay for all that! I—"

"We'll settle up tonight, after we get Daniel home," he said, sounding a little glib about it. He was just trying to shut her up. He handed her the attaché and then picked up the baby bags. "Shall we go? We should get back to the Thompson Center to see if we can get some helpful tips from Ms. Sohn."

She squinted hard at him a moment before letting him lead her away. As they approached the elevator, she realized something. "That's a different tie than you bought! And I thought you selected a white shirt."

At first he didn't meet her eye and then he looked directly at her. It was his tell. Maybe he wasn't going to outright lie, but she was about to get a half-truth from him.

"White shirts make me look sickly, so I returned it for this light cream…"

She scoffed. Him? Sickly?

"And the tie…well…that navy one…didn't project 'respectable guardian' enough."

The tie he now wore was gorgeous, a rich Royal blue silk that seemed to increase the battle of color in his eyes, by contrast making them seem more green than blue. And the blue also matched the blue of her suit blouse. How was it possible for this man to get even better looking? But he was.

Somewhat defensively he added, "Well, I had to do something while I was waiting for you. When I get bored, I get into trouble."

"Oh, I don't want you finding trouble," she laughed.

They rode the elevator to the main level. As they exited the building, Patrick suggested they walk, since the weather had improved from gray overcast to bright sunshine and no wind.

When they approached Dearborn and Washington, he got a big grin on his face.

"I haven't seen that in a very long time," he said with wonder in his voice.

She followed his gaze to the Picasso, the large iron sculpture in front of the Daley Center. A big smile spread across her face as well. It had been ages since she'd been there last, since she was a little kid climbing around on it.

"The Big Funky Bird," she said. "That's what we used to call it when I was growing up. My father hated it. Said it looked like Sesame Street on acid."

He laughed and took her hand. "C'mon. I want to take your picture in front of it."

There was no denying his pull as they hurried across the street and towards the artwork. He posed her a couple times as he took photos with his cellphone, all the while telling her how it had no real title. Picasso never said it was supposed to represent a woman, but that's what art historians had decided eventually. Its original installation was controversial and in the beginning many Chicagoans wanted it removed.

"Sorta like the Eiffel Tower." He grinned. "I read somewhere that Parisians despised it, referring to it as 'the unfortunate lamppost' in the early days."

Teresa sat on the edge of the sloping base and looked up at the 50-foot collective of steel. "My mother called this the Big Funky Bird. When I looked at it like that, I decided I like it."

When she looked back at Patrick, he was standing very close to her, gazing up at the sculpture as well.

"I like it too."

He had a peculiar look on his face, one she only saw when a plan was in the works and he was waiting for that perfect moment. When he dropped his gaze from the Picasso to look at her again, she was certain.

When he tucked his phone into his pocket and reached into his other pocket, he brought out a small velvet box, a ring box. He dropped to one knee in front of her, never looking away from her eyes. He opened the box. The white glimmer from the diamond was dazzling.

"Teresa Elizabeth Lisbon…my sweet love…please marry me."

She stared in stunned silence. _I'm not gonna cry, I'm not gonna cry…_

"Please," he added in a moment. "I love you truly. It would be an honor for me if you let me share your life with you."


	41. C41 - Bliss

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

My beta Cumberland River Relic has a new story called I Remember You – amazing opening chapter – go check it out: www. fanfiction s/9530369/1/ (remove the extra spaces).

* * *

I will be out of office for a week or so, visiting a sick relative, so please be patient. :-)

* * *

**Chapter 41**

_Shit, she's going to cry…_

Patrick watched Teresa's face as her eyes rimmed with tears.

_Please don't cry, my love._

She tilted her face up and blinked rapidly, somehow making the water vanish, although her eyes were still glassy and red. Then she slowly extended her arm, the shaking in her hand increasing the closer she got to him. He took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. Then he brushed his lips against her trembling fingers and looked up at her. She was grinning at him, her whole expression lit with joy.

Behind him he heard clapping so he looked around. About a dozen people surrounded them, all applauding, a few even laughing. Now was definitely the time for his "thanking the audience" smile if there ever was a time. Instead he turned his gaze back to Teresa who still grinned. To his surprise, she leaned forward and kissed him, despite her usual shyness expected to be exacerbated by the crowd of strangers. Her lips were warm and sweet, punctuating the surreal and confirming the reality.

"Yes, Patrick," she whispered when they parted. "I want you at my side for the rest of my life."

"Thank you," he said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone taking a picture with a cellphone. He half-wished he'd combed his hair so he did justice to his lovely lady.

Teresa rose to her feet and grabbed his hand in both of hers, pulling. When he stood, she drew him to her side and pulled out her phone.

"Happiest moment of my life," she said, holding the phone away. "Our engagement picture."

He laughed and smiled for the picture. When she went to take a second one, he turned his attention to her beautiful face with the joyful gleam in her green eyes and the gorgeous smile. It was true that he'd never seen her look so happy.

"C'mon, Patrick, look at the camera."

"I'd much rather look at you," he said sincerely. Then he looked toward the young woman he'd seen from the corner of his eye. "Here, you look like a romantic at heart. Would you kindly take our picture?"

The twenty-something started and then smiled. "Sure. Glad to."

Patrick took Teresa's phone and slipped it in her pocket before handing his over. "Take two, please."

Now that she'd had a chance to think about it, Patrick saw Teresa's shyness creep back to the forefront. He brought her around to face him, and in surprise at the suddenness, she grabbed his upper arms and stared at him.

"I love you, Teresa," he said the slight lump forming in his throat. "I hope always to be as good a man to you as you envisioned me to be when you accepted my ring."

Again she looked like she was going to cry. "You will, Patrick. You always have been."

He heard the shutter sound on his phone and was glad the woman recognized Teresa's expression as photogenic. With a glance at the photographer, he grinned into his fiancée's eyes.

"Show off your ring," he chuckled. "You might as well practice. You'll be asked a lot."

When she did, the helpful tourist took two more, one with him looking at the camera and one with him gazing lovingly at Teresa. Thank goodness the Twenty-something understood, even if Teresa didn't quite.

He thanked the young woman as he got his phone back, and then he picked up the bags again, including taking Teresa's attaché.

"C'mon," he said softly, turning toward the entrance to the Daley Center. "Let's see if we can get this finalized before the hearing."

"What?" she asked, catching up.

"Let's get married," he said.

"Now?"

"What, you want a long engagement?" he asked. Then he grinned. "Teresa, we've known each other for over a decade. Since Day One, it seems like you've always understood me. _Despite_ that, you said 'yes'. Normally I wouldn't rush, but something we are going to do anyway can help you secure a judgment in your favor, so let's get married."

"But…you didn't propose just because of Daniel…did you?"

He stopped suddenly and got pushed from behind when she bumped into him. They were short on time, otherwise he'd set the stuff down and take her in his arms in a reassuring hug.

"No, Teresa, I proposed because I love you and want to get married. But I'm also pragmatic. If getting married immediately – something that is going to happen eventually anyway, except with the whole white dress and priest and church and pomp – if marrying now can make a difference to the hearing we're attending in just over an hour, we should make it official and then go back to just being engaged."

She gaped like a fish, a little bit of disappointment coming to her eyes, making him feel ashamed. He really should have asked her.

"I'm sorry," he said, starting to put down the items he carried. "I was running off half-cocked again, not consulting you about what you want."

She winced and shook her head. "No, you're right, you're right. There's a bigger picture here that I need to look at. Let's go! We only have an hour!"

To his great surprise, she strode quickly toward the door, waving at him to follow. When he did, an impish grin came to her lips and she started to run. He hurried to catch up and she ran faster. Soon it was an all-out sprint for the door which ended in a tie.

"No fair," he huffed, holding the door open for her. "I…I am… carrying all this stuff."

She panted, grinning at him. "And I'm wearing high-heels. What's your point?"

He grinned in return. "Okay. Fair race. Especially since I don't want to trade and try again."

* * *

Their first kiss as husband and wife was definitely too short for Patrick but probably went on longer than the judge and the witness were comfortable.

But after the long line of people, and the form, and the photocopying of identification, and verifications of this, that and the other, and despite approaching their hearing time, he needed to kiss his wife.

Wife! Oh, how great it felt!

After the ceremony there were more forms to complete, documents to sign and get notarized; typical bureaucracy getting in the way. However, it made Teresa Lisbon his wife, even if it did mean they couldn't take more than a moment to enjoy the moment. Wings lifted his feet as they hurried through the building and across the street to Thompson Center again.

_She was his!_

They returned to the ninth floor and spotted Ms. Sohn speaking with a young clerk as they consulted a file together. She actually did a double take of them before her expression settled into a happy smile.

"What happened?" she asked, closing the file and using it to gently wave the clerk away. "Despite that curve ball we got thrown this morning, you two look…mighty…" Then she stared hard at them, almost with suspicion. "You look like a pair of honeymooners."

Patrick grinned more and looked at wide-eyed, slack-jawed Teresa.

"Yes, Mrs. Sohn. You were right the other day when you said that we care for each other. This whole situation helped us realize how much."

Teresa smiled at him, the glow of love warming her face like the rising sun refracted by light fluffy clouds.

"Wow…" Felicia Sohn breathed. "This sounds like a Harlequin Romance."

Patrick burst out laughing. "Well, we'll look into attaining the movie rights if this all turns out like we hope."

Mrs. Sohn took a deep breath, glancing up and down the hall.

"Yes, this new complication is quite a surprise. I didn't know there was an interested relative from Jared's family."

Her expression of disappointment and slight worry encouraged him in a strange sort of way. There had been no doubt that she'd helped earlier by not revealing their connection to the case, but now he knew she was most definitely in their corner.

"What do you know about her?" Patrick asked. "I mean…beyond that she inherited a bit of money, she likes beautiful young men, she's vain and she has multiple sclerosis, exhibiting Lhermitte's sign as part of her condition, hence her reluctance to turn or lower her head even though it gives the impression that she's stubborn, aloof and unyielding. She's a believer in the Jewish faith and has no problems with people of other religions. And she still smokes when anyone will give her a cigarette."

He smiled smugly. Teresa rolled her eyes but still smiled in return. Mrs. Sohn merely stared.

"You know?" Teresa said lightly. "There are still going to be times when I'm going to have to say 'Jane' to you in a firm tone of voice and tell you to stop showing off."

"Is this one of them?" he asked.

"Pretty damned close," she said.

Unable to resist, he hugged her and laughed. "All right, Boss."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	42. C42 - Doda

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

I apologize for the long delay in posting this next chapter. My husband and I had to drive to Chicago to see my mother-in-law who has reached the end of her time in this existence. She's happy to have seen her #3 son for the last time and is now ready to join her husband. Godspeed, Mom.

* * *

My beta/critique partner Cumberland River Relic has a new story called I Remember You – amazing opening chapter and fantastic writing throughout! Go check it out: s/9530369/1/

* * *

**Chapter 42**

_Did he just call me 'Boss'?_

When she looked at Mrs. Sohn again, the social worker looked like a proud parent, amused at the antics of a favored child.

"Sorry," Patrick said. "I have a tendency to ask questions and then not allow anyone to answer them."

_Wasn't that the truth!_ Teresa shook her head, fighting the grin.

"You know more about her than I do," Ms. Sohn said with a shrug. "I've been dealing with this reassignment problem and never got a chance to follow up with her. The only thing I found out is that she learned of this hearing through her sister and that she's very unhappy with her family for turning their backs on the child."

"That reflects well on her," Teresa said, struggling to make the best possible scenario if they should lose custody of the boy. Negative thoughts would be counterproductive.

"What influence will her illness have on the judge's ruling?" Patrick asked.

"It should have a great deal of bearing on the case." The social worker put her hands together as if in prayer and brought them to her lips, pondering her next words. "Financial security is all well and good, but it's not everything. Being able to hold a child and develop an intimate relationship is always preferred. Being able to provide emotional quality of life and useful living experience is taken into heavy consideration."

She gave Teresa's arm a reassuring pat.

"You have nothing to worry about, Ms. Lisbon." Then she smiled. "Or should I call you 'Mrs. Jane' from now on?"

Teresa gaped, looking from Felicia Sohn to Patrick. "Why...don't you go back to calling me 'Teresa' for the moment. We haven't discussed...whether I'm keeping my maiden name or not."

A shadow passed over his face, but to her relief, it neither dissolved into anger nor sadness nor hurt, just calm acceptance. The love in his eyes shone as brightly as ever.

"Teresa, I think we need to get into the hearing room." He bent to pick up the briefcase and hand it to her. Then he picked up the other bags.

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Sohn said. "You'd better get in there. This judge doesn't care for people arriving during proceedings. No point giving her a bias against you."

They entered the hearing room to find it in recess between sessions. Patrick helped her settle into a chair and after placing their belongings on the floor near their feet, planted himself in the seat next to her. His smile was enigmatic.

"I...I don't know if I want to change my name."

She watched his face as she said it. The shadow didn't reappear.

"You shouldn't, then."

"You don't mind?"

"Sure, it's a disappointment for me, but nothing I won't get over. I understand your decision."

"I don't think you do."

"I absolutely do." His voice rose in pitch a little. "You've developed a professional reputation as Agent Teresa Lisbon and you should stand behind it. Right?"

There was a slight desperate quality to his tone; he might be assuming it was to do with the reputation of the name "Jane".

"No," she said.

"No?"

"It's very simple. I've spent forty-two years of my life as Teresa Elizabeth Lisbon and I like it very much. I don't want to change it."

Again she was surprised when his mask disappeared, something she wasn't accustomed to witnessing. It wasn't anything exact that she could see, but slight changes transformed his face, exposing his true feelings.

In this case, relief.

"And besides, Patrick, I'm not asking you to change your name."

"Well...maybe you should."

"Would you, if I asked?"

"No, probably not. I'd stare in the mirror for hours trying to figure out who I am."

That little twinkle she loved so well came to his eyes right before he winked. She chuckled as he ran his hand down her arm and took her hand.

"Teresa Lisbon, you must never change," he said before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it. "You're a special lady, and I love every part of you. _Including _your name exactly as it's spelled right now."

"Thank you."

Movement caught her eye. By the clerk's desk, Felicia Sohn was waving surreptitiously for her attention. When she and Patrick looked, the social worker pointed toward the door behind them without raising her hand above her waist. They turned.

Ofira Rina Joffe was being pushed into the room by her assistant.

"Perfect," Patrick said, placing Teresa's hand in her lap. "I'll be right back, _Lisbon_." He stood and walked toward the wheelchair-bound woman.

"Jane?...Jane!"

_Dammit! That man is so exasperating!_

Teresa gathered the items at her feet as Patrick approached Jared's aunt. She couldn't see his face but there was no missing the flush that came to the old woman's face. Teresa's Con Man had gone into full charm mode and it was completely effective. Letting the bags drop back to the floor, Teresa settled back into her seat while keeping watch from the corner of her eye but trying very hard not to be obvious.

First he gestured, indicating they should move out of the way of other people.

_"Considerate Jane" personality aspect,_ Teresa thought.

When they'd relocated to the side, Patrick crouched down so the older woman didn't have to tilt her head and experience pain from her lay… leherm… whatever that MS ailment Patrick had said she suffered.

_"Accurate Diagnosis Jane" now._

After several minutes, Teresa was dying to know what they were talking about but she'd turned away in order not to stare. The man was an absolute coward when it came to guns and physical pain but had no worries about talking with strangers. His ability to read people was extraordinary. It gave him the confidence of knowing when and how to escape because social dangers were headed his way. He could walk up to anyone and talk his way into their lives.

_And if you're lucky, he chooses to stay. I was _very_ lucky._

If she were sneaky like he was, she could pull out a compact mirror and watch while pretending to fix her makeup. Inspired, she searched her bag. Unfortunately she wasn't sneaky enough to carry a compact. She sighed and looked toward him again.

_Stage Performer Jane, now._

Patrick had both the old woman and the assistant laughing at something he said. Whatever it was had been engaging, charming and broke through every defense. He glanced over to where she was seated and shared a bawdy wink before waving her over.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach before she realized how foolish it was to have that reaction. In her career, she'd stared down numerous violent criminals, some of which were trying to kill her, for God's sake! Including the worst murderer in California history! She faced Red John in that abandoned theater while the bastard had a gun on her friend. Not just her friend but her love. How cool she had remained as she aimed between the killer's eyes despite being so close to Jane. Why couldn't she find the same internal calm while facing Jared's aunt? The problem was somewhat the same, right? If she was honest with herself, loss of the object of love would devastate her. Was she only confident when she was packing a Glock?

After gathering her briefcase, she stood and put the bags of baby stuff on their two seats. She tried to remove the worry from her heart that she knew reflected in her expression, but once again she admitted to herself that she was a terrible liar. Her concern was probably plastered all over her face in neon green Vegas-style lighting.

"Teresa, come meet Ofira Joffe. She's Jared's aunt." Again he winked at her before looking at Joffe. "And if I'm not mistaken, you're Daniel's benefactor of several boxes of new clothing for when he's a few months older. We found them in the basement yesterday. They're wonderful clothes. That boy is going to grow into them very quickly."

_What clothes? What the hell was he talking about?_

"Doda Ofira, this is my wife Teresa Lisbon. She's Annie's aunt from California, come to claim guardianship over Little Daniel."

The woman winced a little as she tilted her head back, but she offered her hand immediately. Teresa felt sorry for her and crouched before accepting the handshake.

_Doda Ofira? Why does that sound so familiar?_

"I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs. Joffe."

"Oh, call me Doda. Everyone does."

"'Doda' is a Hebrew word for 'aunt' and also for 'nice lady'," Jane said in simplistic tone, giving a gentle nod to his head.

"Doda!" Teresa said, the weight of worry vanishing from her heart. This was Doda! "Annie talked about someone helpful she called 'Doda'. You had a post-wedding dinner party for Jared and Annie after they got married."

"Well, I had to do _something_," Doda Ofira said, indignation taking over her voice. "My damned, pig-headed family didn't do anything to help those youngsters. You should be able to depend on family in both good times and bad, even if they're the ones making it bad. I'm just sorry those poor kids had to struggle on their own for so long."

That was a source of guilt. Teresa had missed both the wedding _and_ the birth. Sure, she sent gifts for both events, but if she had been a really good aunt, she would have been there when they needed her. And she should have known how much they were struggling to make ends meet. Somehow she would have found the money to send to them.

"Now, don't get that look on your face," Doda Ofira said, squeezing her hand. "You were doing important work in California. Annie was very proud of you when you stopped that evil man from doing any more killing. She sent me emails with all the news articles. You're the perfect person to raise Daniel. You and this…" She looked sidelong at Patrick. "…this charming popinjay at your side."

Patrick's automatically-applied 'thanking the audience' expression made Teresa smile. She was starting to like this Ofira Joffe. Especially with the previous sentence about raising Daniel.

"So you're not here to contest the wills?"

"Contest it? God, no! Who do you think helped them write those wills? I'm a retired contract attorney. No, I am here to try to make certain the court does the right thing by contacting you if you hadn't come to Chicago. There was no way to tell what the hell was going on. These damned social workers won't return my call half the time and no one would tell me if any other member of the family had stepped up."

The assistant bent forward and patted her shoulder gently. "Doda, you need to calm down now."

She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. "Yes, there's no medicine in the world that stops me from getting upset with my idiot family, but I need to try." Her watery gaze met Teresa's again and she squeezed her hand. "But you'll—"

"All rise," the bailiff called, interrupting.

"Shtup," Doda said under her breath as she looked up. Then in rather pushy tones, she said, "Go. Sit."

Patrick and Teresa rose to their feet, and as they turned away, Patrick patted Doda's hand.

"We all love Daniel," he said. "We'll all work together for what's best for him."

Teresa stared at Patrick a moment and then followed him back to their seats.

_God, please, don't let him have pulled one of his stunts._

She didn't really pay attention as the judge entered and the first case was called, instead continuing to stare at him as they settled into their chairs. When he noticed, he leaned toward her and whispered, "What?"

"Please tell me you didn't hypnotize that woman," Teresa pleaded.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	43. C43 - Order!

Things are heating up in my beta/critique partner Cumberland River Relic's story called **_I Remember You_** – amazing opening chapter and fantastic writing throughout! Go check it out: s/9530369/1/ and for the story that told me I need to collaborate with him, look for CRR's really cool story Director Cho's Retirement Dinner. In your web browser type in the fanfiction dot net web address and add /s/8540658/1/Director-Cho-s-Retirement-Dinner

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Special thank you to beta-reader Make-Mine-a-Kiaora for helping avert disaster! Okay, so it's probably nothing anyone would notice, but once the problem was brought to my attention it was the size of a double-decker bus. And another thank you to Cumberland River Relic for waving his magic wand and turning the bus into a Mini Cooper. Thank you to both these fine writers!

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Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

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**Chapter 43**

Patrick couldn't stop the burst of laughter at the worry in Teresa's tones.

Unfortunately, it drew the attention of all the hearing room occupants, including the judge whose loose, wrinkled face wiggled alarmingly when she shook her head in their direction. Patrick almost continued laughing at how ludicrous she looked, but reality brought him up short. This wasn't his usual visit to a court room that brought out his contempt of all the proceedings. This wasn't a hearing like he'd suffered through as a child. Daniel's _future_ was on the line as well as Teresa's happiness, and he was risking guardianship of Daniel out of an idiotic lack of self-control. He was immediately repentant. With hope of appeasing, he raised his hand and assumed an expression of honest contrition. The court returned to the current case.

He turned to examine Teresa. Her face was set into what he hoped his looked like; somber as the Supreme Court.

"No, of course I didn't," he said. "Even if I could have, there's no need. Daniel is legally bound to your custody. Doda Ofira is a nice lady under that crustiness, but _you're_ the baby's guardian. The wills we found said so."

Teresa examined him silently, her gaze darting around his face, the wrinkles in her brow smoothing as the light softened in her eyes. Then she stared at his lips for a long time.

But then she sought out his hand and squeezed it hard, her frustration equating to intensity.

He put his lips to her ear. "Yes, I want to kiss you too," he whispered.

A small squeak escaped her as she suppressed her laughter. It was a sound he would remember every time they had a work-related court date together.

"Case number 13-186315609: Custody determination for Daniel Thomas Vogelstein of Chicago. Will the case worker step forward and update the court on the situation, please? My file on the case has been removed from the docket."

The lump in his throat was probably the only thing that kept Patrick from yelping at Teresa's increased pressure on the bones in his hand. Damn her panic-induced strength! But she must have heard his sharp intake of breath because she let go. Her gaze never left the proceedings.

Mrs. Sohn approached the front of the hearing room and handed a file to the clerk.

"Your honor, pardon me for the delay in sharing updated paper work. My staff had to make a last minute change to the names of the receiving relatives."

"Does this mean there's a challenge? Is a continuance in order while it gets sorted out?" the judge asked, holding out a hand toward the clerk. The folder was passed forward.

Teresa looked at Patrick in panic at the word 'challenge'. He nodded calmly, despite the momentary jolt through his system.

"No, your honor. Marital status change. Ms. Teresa Lisbon is married, it turns out, and we needed to add Mr. Patrick Jane to the records."

The judge harrumphed. "Your office needs to get their act together; don't even know if a potential guardian is married."

Just as Patrick was about to protest the unfair chastisement, Teresa's hand clamped over his mouth. He smiled behind her fingers and then stuck out his tongue to lick her palm. She gasped and took her hand away, shaking it to dry it and when that didn't work, wiping it on his pant leg.

"Gross," she mumbled.

"Yes, your honor," Mrs. Sohn said. "I apologize to you and the court."

The room was silent as the judge perused the paperwork. Once or twice her eyebrows shot up. Patrick suspected it had to do with the appearance of 'California Bureau of Investigation' throughout the documents .

"This all seems in order," she said at last, taking up her pen and signing. "Because of the solid employment of both guardians in responsible positions, supervisory visits by child protective services need only be made once a month for six months. Please make arrangements with your California counterparts, Mrs. Sohn."

"Certainly. Thank you, Judge Friedman."

Addressing the room, the judge asked, "Is there any challenge to the DCFS recommendation of assignment to Mrs. Lisbon and Mr. Jane?"

Patrick held his breath. Why was she asking about challenges now? She'd already signed the form. It was too late, surely. He was nearly certain about Doda, but sometimes double-crosses are more about emotion than about planning. However, other than the soft whisper behind him of an attorney advising a client, there was no sound in the room and Judge Friedman made a little nod before closing the file.

"The court releases Daniel Thomas Vogelstein to the immediate custody of his great-aunt Teresa Elizabeth Lisbon and her husband Patrick Alexander Jane. Light supervision recommended, enduring a total of six months. The court must see monthly reports from the State of California." Judge Friedman banged her gavel.

As the court began to stir with between-case activity, a high-pitched voice rose from the back, its quavering tones commanding attention.

"Your honor!"

The court grew quiet and all heads turned, mostly to the back but in the case of Teresa, she looked at Patrick in dread.

"Yes, Mrs. Joffe?" Judge Friedman said in a weary voice.

_The judge knows Doda Ofira? Unless I'm mistaken, this should be good._

Patrick smiled at Teresa and looked at the old lady rolling up the aisle. Teresa looked, too.

"I just wish to put into record that the State of Illinois was tardy and neglectful in assigning custody of my nephew. That boy should never have been taken from Mrs. Lisbon to begin with."

The judge sighed. "The boy was surrendered by Mrs. Lisbon in recognition of requirements of the law, Ofira, but the situation has been rectified. Your position is duly noted and if that's all, you can return to your seat now." She gestured toward the court reporter and gave a small nod.

"Thank you, Judge Friedman."

"See you at bridge on Wednesday?"

"Yes, Janet."

* * *

_**To be continued…**_


	44. C44 - Secrets

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

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Thank you to ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE who has left a review the last few weeks! The world seems to be conspiring against me and not allowing time to answer every review personally as I usually do. If it helps at all, I'm doing my best to concentrate on writing this story, working my way to the Happily Ever After chapter that y'all know is coming! (No, Jane's not getting Lisbon another pony. She's still cleaning up poop from the last one!)

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Sorry to keep you all waiting for this. I try to post every three days or so, but it just wasn't in the cards. The next one may be a bit of a wait too. My apologies in advance. If you need something really cool to read in the interim, I highly recommend the latest two chapters of my critique partner Cumberland River Relic's ongoing_** I Remember You**_, and also the wonderful piece he and I co-authored called _**Driven Beauty**_. My concept for the story but execution was 90% CRR's and he did a fantastic job. Look at my favorites list for I Remember You and my stories list for Driven Beauty.

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**Chapter 44**

Teresa's reaction surprised Patrick. He'd expected a huge sigh of relief. Or maybe a hug. If she forgot herself, maybe even a soft "woot!" and a fist-pump into the air.

Instead when he looked at her, he was greeted with tears pouring over her full cheeks, dripping off her chin. Her beautiful face was pinched in her efforts to suppress her emotions, the appearance causing a pinch in his chest as her pain transferred to him. He patted his jacket for another handkerchief, certain he'd tucked some into his pocket that morning. Nothing. Then he looked in two more. Phone, keys, wallet, credit card blank, paper clip…

_Crap_.

Strangely enough, it made her laugh a little to watch him dig around before she reached into her own coat and pulled out two used ones he'd given her earlier. As she dabbed her eyes, he put his arm around her, pulling her into his side.

God, she'd been through so much. They both had. In less than a week, they'd gone from being casual daters who hadn't even slept together to being married. They'd lost family members (because the whole team kinda felt like Annabeth was an honorary niece) and gained responsibility of a family.

Patrick held her even more closely, placing a soft kiss upon her head.

Something else they lost was the fear and loneliness of being alone. It was replaced with mutual understanding and comfort as well as a great deal of love.

"When you're ready, we'll go see Mrs. Sohn, okay? We can find out where to get Daniel."

As if being upset was anathema to her, Teresa pushed out of his arms and took a large gulp of air, clamping down, shutting off. He was sorry he had drawn attention to it, wishing she'd allow herself to be human. Typical Lisbon fashion, she became all action, gathering all their belongings – leaving nothing for him – and hurried to the main aisle as if to leave. But instead of turning right towards the door, she went left.

"Your honor? Permission to approach the bench?"

Judge Friedman glared over her reading glasses, looking every inch a Shar Pei with vision problems. Patrick wasn't interested to know if she had a short, curly tail, however.

"Mrs. Lisbon, you may."

Teresa crossed to the bench. "Thank you for your judicious ruling on Daniel's case."

A slight smile came to the woman's face. "Take good care of the boy. And yourself, Mrs. Lisbon."

The judge looked at Patrick and gave a curt nod. Time for the "thanking the audience" smile, which he flashed. Then he dodged around a court clerk to step forward, taking the heavier bags from his wife.

"Come, my dear. Let's find out where Daniel is."

* * *

Finding Mrs. Sohn was easy. She was outside Room 914, firmly telling a family that their child would be returned permanently when the court was satisfied that healthy living conditions were being maintained in the home. It didn't seem the time to interrupt.

Teresa tapped on his arm and pointed towards the elevator. Doda Ofira was being wheeled down the hall by her assistant. Patrick gathered their stuff more tightly to his side and hurried after, Teresa's lighter step clicking along behind him.

"Mrs. Joffe, could you hold up a moment?" he called.

"Doda," she responded, holding up her hand and then gesturing to the side where the assistant parked her.

Catching his breath, he stepped in front of her and crouched. "Pardon me. Doda." He glanced at Teresa as she approached. "We just wanted to thank you for all the support you gave Jared and Annabeth but especially to Daniel."

Teresa crouched too, nodding. "Yes, thank you very much."

Doda adjusted her already clasped hands on her lap and adjusted her seat a little. Bitterness twisted her face and certainly there was the inkling of tears behind the anger in her eyes. "Yes, well, Jared was as bull-headed as his mother, my sister Chana. He wouldn't let on to anyone how much he was struggling to provide for his family after his father fired him from the family law firm. He was only a clerk there while in school, but it was good pay with prospects."

"Fired him?" Teresa asked.

"We'd heard that your sister and her husband didn't approve of Annie," Patrick interjected, glancing sidelong at her. Teresa's interrogation techniques were often a little too direct and cop-like. Sometimes it was best to lead with conversation rather than probe directly with questions. His Sweet Teresa was turning back into Cop Lisbon as her grief subsided.

Doda scoffed. "The only woman they would have approved of would have been Queen Esther, and even she would have spent some time proving herself beforehand."

Patrick smiled and nodded, agreeing that Jared's parents sounded rigid. Later he'd look up Esther to fully understand the reference. Some tickler of memory told him it was Biblical. Or a Jewish scroll? Probably the latter, since Doda Ofira was Jewish. Definitely not Shakespeare; he knew most of Shakespeare's main players and didn't recall a major character named Esther. Yep, probably a scroll.

Research later. Right now he needed to keep Doda talking. "And Annie had no problem with this…judgment against her?"

"That poor girl was devastated. She wanted her marriage to their son to be a happy occasion that brought the family together. Her naiveté surprised me. I took her for being more practical and pragmatic than that. And she was in most things. I'm not sure I ever met a more driven and dedicated young lady."

From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw Teresa nod slightly. Her face began to pinch but then grew flat as she contained her emotions. Her complexion paled.

Doda continued, not noticing. "I tried to tell her that it was a pipe dream, that my sister and her husband are foolish know-nothings who don't feel love like normal people do. And certainly not as intensely as Annie felt it for Jared and Jared, her."

"Did her father know all this was going on?"

"Oh, Thomas was furious at Chana and David. I didn't have much interaction with him but his resentment against my…sister was blatant. Clearly he didn't blame me; he was always civil when we spoke, but I could tell he was barely in control of his antipathy." Doda brought a handkerchief to her lip and dabbed. "Rightly so."

"And what about you? Did you resent that Annie was an atheist?" He knew Doda didn't, but he wanted to gauge her reaction.

"Who told you she was an atheist?"

"Mrs. Sohn was told this by Jared's parents," Teresa said.

"Bah! Morons! Just because she wasn't Jewish, Chana and David felt she was nothing. She was still Catholic, although a mild one, just like Jared was still Jewish. Neither of them was terribly pushy about it. They'd decided to raise the boy neutrally and let him decide when he was ready."

Then she glanced at Teresa's neckline before looking at both their faces.

"Although now that may change."

Patrick looked at Teresa a moment also.

"Probably not at all," he said. "Unless you count a belief in karma, I'm not religious myself. My wife is but we've managed to get along by finding a neutral ground."

A wry smile came to Doda's lips.

"Still an atheist, Mr. Jane? Despite everything that's happened to you? Oh, yes, I know who you are. And what you've gone through, of course. The news articles Annabeth sent featured you nearly as much as her aunt. The lack of progress in your relationship was quite vexing to Annie, by the way. She would have been delighted about your change in status."

Again Patrick glanced at Teresa.

"Well…that's a recent development. And speaking of developments…I want to get your opinion on a future possibility. I want us to adopt Daniel to be his parents in full."

Doda grinned. Teresa gaped.

"What a splendid idea!" Doda said. "Change his name, too. After the horrid behavior of Daniel's grandparents, the name Vogelstein should not be carried on. It's unworthy."

That wasn't Patrick's intent, but there was a certain degree of irony to it. That small, vindictive part lurking in his personality agreed that it would be poetic justice if Jared's parents found themselves without a progeny.

"But Jared was worthy, wasn't he?" Teresa asked. Her tone was high and emotional, verging on desperate.

Doda stared at Teresa a moment. "But that's not what Jared was all about. He didn't care about lineage and names and titles. He wanted his son to be happy and healthy. Constantly he talked about what he planned in order to get a better life for his wife and son, even talking about moving to California to be closer to family who loved Daniel."

"He didn't consider you as family?" Patrick asked, glancing at Teresa again. "That must have hurt your feelings a little bit."

Doda transferred her penetrating stare to him, twisting it into an expression that indicated she was unimpressed. "Mr. Jane, I thought you would have understood how short the future truly is. I give you more credit than you deserve, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

The woman sighed, the deep, all-energy sigh of someone who is preparing for extreme effort.

"The reason I didn't come to Daniel's rescue on Wednesday night when Jared…" For the first time, her sadness got the better of her and she stalled. "…when Jared died…was because I was out of town and my sister didn't call to tell me. Perhaps she was punishing me for maintaining a relationship with Jared and Annie, or maybe she was protecting me from the news…like I'd never find out when I returned."

Patrick studied her face, also studying the possible explanations for her being out of town.

"Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center? Or Johns Hopkins?" he asked.

A smirk of amusement came to her lips and she nodded stiffly. "Mayo."

"Ah. Breast cancer?"

"Brain tumor. Inoperable."

Teresa mewed and held out her hand which Doda took.

"Don't pity me, Hadassah. I've lived a good life, but it's over now. You've just begun yours, you and this ba-tampte man."

_Ba-tampte? What was that?_ He resolved to look it up when he looked up Queen Esther.

"Is your health the reason you didn't fight for custody?" he asked.

"Partly. Another part is age. Even without multiple sclerosis and cancer, I'm going to be sixty-six next year. What could make you think that at seventy, I want to be running after a kindergartener? Meshugah! Crazy!"

When they laughed, Doda Ofira patted Teresa's hand. "Live a good life, pretty bride." Then she reached out and took Patrick's hand to put on his wife's. "This is the start of something wonderful. I just know it."

Once again Patrick marveled at the beauty in Teresa's blush but looked at Doda when the old woman patted their hands.

"Be well, you two." She sat back and gestured to her attendant. "Home, Antonio."

"Doda, just a sec," Patrick said, reaching for his wallet as he rose to his feet. "We should get together so you can see Daniel before we leave for California." He pulled out a business card and tried to hand it to her. "I don't have a card myself, but here's one of Teresa's. Call us so we can go out to dinner or something."

The woman stared at the card sadly a moment before taking it, handing it back to Antonio.

"Thank you," she said in a low whisper, gesturing again. Antonio continued toward the elevators.

Teresa stood and came to his side.

"She's not going to call," she said, squeezing his arm.

_Probably not. It hurts too much._

He couldn't tell Teresa that, of course.

"She might. You never know." He placed his arm around her and turned them back toward Room 914. "And you know something else?" he asked as they approached.

"What?"

"She's too old to be Jared's aunt."

Teresa stumbled at his words and he caught her. "What do you mean?"

He glanced around to check the proximity of other people in the hall.

"I mean that Jared's mother is Doda's daughter raised as her twenty-year-difference sister. I think Daniel is not her great-nephew, but instead, her great-grandson. That's the reason for the animosity in the family."

"No…" Teresa breathed.

"Yes, probably," he said. "It explains some things anyway. Hard to prove, however."

"Not without testimony."

"Indeed." He gestured towards Room 914 again. They began walking again.

"And they're not likely to admit anything like that." Her voice took on the pensive quiet of her analytical brain. He was sorry he brought the subject up. Her concerns were already stacked high.

"Well, why should they?" he said cheerfully. "It's all life water under the bridge of history, right?"

Still she looked puzzled. In an effort to redirect her thoughts, he opened the door into the DCFS and bowed her in.

"Mrs. Sohn? We're here to claim the grand prize."

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	45. C45 - Returned

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

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Thanks to both _**Cumberland River Relic**_ (as always!) and to _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their time and feedback as beta readers/critique partners. Generosity of time is the greatest charity, especially right now when they're both writing their own stuff so prolifically and well!

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A special kudos to CRR for reminding me that Mary Lisbon would have been Danny's great-grandmother which made me realize that Ofira and Mary would have been peers. :)

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**Chapter 45**

"Patience, woman. You have to have patience…"

Teresa rolled her eyes before aiming them into an intense glare.

"I swear to God, Trick, if you say that one more time, _you're_ going to be _a_ _patient_… in an emergency room somewhere."

"Reesie…"

She threw herself back onto the lobby sofa near the information booth they'd sat by earlier that day. The building took on a completely different feel when it was empty and there was no sunlight beaming through the glass atrium walls. It felt even more cold and formidable than ever.

"Where do you think they are? It's nearly 5:30. Everyone has gone home. And Mrs. Sohn said they'd be here already."

Patrick pointed toward the first section of glass. Mrs. Sohn was leading a short, white lady lugging a car seat. The wind caught the blanket, peeling it up and carrying it away.

Teresa's heart caught in her throat at the thought of the cold blast hitting poor Daniel. She moved to rise but Patrick grabbed her wrist. "They've got it. Don't worry."

Indeed, Mrs. Sohn grabbed the carrier and hurried inside. The woman, who Teresa assumed was the foster mom, ran after the blanket. Mrs. Sohn lifted the car carrier to chest height and spoke to the baby whose crying sounded like he was in it for the long haul. It was breaking Teresa's heart, the closer they drew. It took all her will-power not to leap up and rush forward.

When the social worker set the carrier on the low table, Patrick released the baby's straps and scooped him up, placing him in Teresa's arms. Struggling to prevent tears, she put all her energy into comforting Daniel whose crying turned into screams. She rose to her feet and bounced lightly at her knees. Not knowing what else to do, she found her instincts had taken over, hunching over him and murmuring soft assurances.

Movement caught her eye and she looked up. The foster mother was moving to put the blanket on Daniel but Patrick intercepted, giving the woman a very sour, contemptuous look. He held the fabric to the side and shook it out, watching a discarded cigarette butt fall from it. Maybe it was picked up when the blanket had fallen to the ground outside, but the wind certainly wasn't responsible for the tattered appearance of the dirty cover. Scowling more deeply, Patrick bunched up the rag-like fabric and handed it back before reaching into their bag and bringing out a fresh, bright receiving blanket. He tucked it over and around the boy as Teresa continued to bounce like Patrick had shown her.

Currently, he was glaring at the foster mom with pure venom. A truly angry protective male.

She examined the infant's little face. His skin was blotchy and red, looking a little raw, probably from the cold wind or maybe from something else. The loud crying sounded tired, as if he'd been at it for a while. Bouncing seemed to be helping and strangely enough, loosening her hold around him helped too, like he was bothered by too strong of a touch.

Diaper rash? Maybe. Patrick had told her during her first diaper-changing lessons that she should watch for an overall sensitivity as a symptom. Also despite Patrick's assurances that DCFS would take good care of Daniel, she knew he hadn't been confident about that at all. Another little white Jane lie, told to cover an uncomfortable truth that she wouldn't like and couldn't do anything about. All in all, diaper rash seemed highly likely.

She glanced around to find a restroom with a baby changing station. Hadn't she seen one by the elevators? Or was it behind the news stand? There was definitely one nearby.

Patrick tapped her arm. She looked at him, startled.

"My dear?"

Teresa looked at the social worker and then the foster mom who had stepped well away, almost as if Patrick's ire were pushing her back.

"Sorry. He needs to be changed, I think. I want to check his diaper."

"Oh, absolutely," Mrs. Sohn said, touching her arm and then pointing toward a sign. "We should get going anyway."

"Tell you what," Patrick said. "Mrs. Sohn and I will arrange to get together before we return to California. You go ahead and take care of our boy."

_Our boy_. God, why did that sound so good? She felt herself flush with pleasure.

As he examined her face, his ire at the foster care provider melted away, his expression softening to great love. She leaned forward and he met her in a quick kiss.

"Let me put this on your shoulder," he said, lifting the diaper bag and holding it out for her.

Carefully she made her arm available and he hung the bag. Then, just as carefully, she crossed the atrium to the restroom, hurrying as well as she could.

Getting the changing station set up was easier than she thought it would be, considering she'd only changed Daniel a few times and almost always with Patrick's supervision. While holding the boy, she managed to get the protective towel down before setting him on his back. His screams seemed worse as she released the taped tabs and lifted the front of the diaper.

Her stifled scream joined his.

"Oh my God, oh my God…"

The entire area under the diaper was red and raw. There were inflamed bumps and scaly skin and…

She swallowed hard against the upheaval of her diaphragm. The bile still managed to sour the back of her throat. No wonder the boy was screaming.

Jane! He'd know what to do. She started to dig into her pocket to pull out her phone, but then she stopped. No, damn it. He couldn't always come to her rescue. They both were Danny's parents, right? She'd have to figure it out.

After pulling out her phone, she brought up Google and typed in 'severe diaper rash'.

_I can't believe I'm Googling this. If I tell Jane, I will _never_ live this down… _

While waiting for it to load, she dug through the diaper bag to find out what her resources were. Diapers, ointment, baby butt wipes, a bottle marked liquid baby powder…

Liquid powder?

She resumed making shushing noises at Danny, touching his arm to let him know she was still there. As she was about to open the first link, she realized there were four million advice sites. Apparently this was not an underutilized resource. Lots of new parents looked it up.

But no doubt none of them were standing in a public washroom studying it like she currently was!

_Oooh…shi—Sheep dip!_

No…she had to remain calm. That was one thing Patrick emphasized when it came to the baby was to try to remain calm whenever possible. The worse the situation, the calmer she should be.

She took a deep breath and opened the link, following the directions which read somewhat like first aid instructions. Fortunately the Illinois State foster mom had put a fresh diaper on Danny, probably right before Sohn showed up, so it wasn't full of crap, but it was a very cheap and not very absorbent brand. The boy's skin was damp and smelled of urine and stool.

To help herself and the baby, Teresa began to hum a little song she remembered her mother used to sing to Tommy whenever it was time for Tommy's change. The 35-year-old memory raced into her forebrain and the peace her mother had inadvertently instilled in her at the time now poured through her heart once again. For a brief moment, it even felt like she was channeling Mary Lisbon, Daniel's great-grandmother, the Lisbon family equivalent of Doda Ofira, if Patrick was right. She reread the instructions and once again dug into the bag, retrieving the soft cloth that Patrick had wisely included with the other supplies. After testing that the water wasn't too hot, she dampened the cloth and gave Daniel a quick sponge bath before rinsing the cloth thoroughly. Then she concentrated on cleaning everywhere the diaper had pressed against the tender skin.

The website advice about using baby powder was mixed with pros and cons, so she left it off, instead taking her time to ensure that he was completely dry before starting to set the fresh diaper under him.

There was a knock on the door. She smiled.

"Come in, Patrick. It's just us."

He stepped in cautiously, glancing around the room.

"If someone had told me last week that I'd get to see the inside to two women's restrooms in one day, I'd have thought it was time for random drug testing on that person…" Then he whistled and stepped closer, staring at Daniel. It served to remind her how terrible it appeared at first light.

"Yeah, I know," Teresa said. "The poor kid! If that foster mom is still out there, I think I'll punch her right in the nose."

"You'd be in line behind me," he said, moving around to examine the baby all over. "But they're gone." Then he smirked a little. "Google?"

She snatched up the phone and put it in her pocket. Then she brought it out again. "We should…should take pictures…to document this neglect by foster care."

"It doesn't prove neglect, my dear. Babies can get diaper rash from a change in diet, a minor infection…Even just being under stress can bring it on, and there's no denying he's been through a lot in the last week."

"That's certainly true," she mumbled, again swallowing bile in the back of her throat. That foster mother deserved to get her ass kicked.

"The best thing we can do for him," he continued, "is to get him to familiar smells and noises. He still has a long road ahead of him, but the best place for him right now is back home at the apartment."

As Patrick repacked the bag, she finished securing Danny's diaper. Just as she was about to pick him up, Patrick ran his finger in and around the edges of the nappy, gauging the tightness.

"Very nice, Teresa," he said with a gentle nod. "Perfect, in fact."

Funny how his simple compliment made her face feel hot.

After taking the baby in her arms, she stood still as Patrick placed the blanket around the boy and then wrapped another one over her shoulder, tenting it over his little head. Teresa watched Patrick's face, noticing that the lines that had seemed so deep during the pursuit of Red John were now mostly gone, melted away in the glow of happiness and deep affection. It felt good to see him so contented.

His gaze rose to meet hers. All vestiges of his mask were gone. Unreserved, beautiful, pure love remained.

And then he kissed her, his lips expressing the exact same emotions. It flooded her with appreciation for her good fortune and the sudden realization that _they were married_! With the renewed shock of it all, she inhaled deeply through her nose and separated from him.

"Patrick…I…" she began. She stopped to just stare at him.

"Yes, overwhelming, isn't it? But one thing that hasn't changed; you're my best friend and my partner. And I'm yours. It's the basis for a great marriage. Everything is going t—"

"To be fine," she finished for him. God, she'd heard it so often since this wild ride had begun, she was starting to hear it in her sleep.

_Okay, so maybe that wasn't a bad thing._

A big grin spread across his face. "The Mentalist's Wife."

"The Agent's Husband," she said, a wry smile coming to her own lips.

"And the Little Lost Lamb for us both." He cradled Danny's head briefly before gathering their items. "Let's take the lamb back to his manger."

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	46. C46 - Prelude to Magic

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thank you, thank you, thank you, **Cumberland River Relic** for feedback on the emotional impact of this chapter. A great big thank you to the Helpful Pedant of the Year **MakeMineAKiaora** for catching those niggling little sentence structure issues. Both of these extraordinary authors were unbelievably supportive and helpful. Check out their posts! You won't be sorry.

* * *

**Chapter 46**

Daniel started to cry again the moment they got outside into the cold and continued to cry the entire side trip through the fast-food drive-thru and the remainder of the drive to the apartment.

He cried through his second diaper change, through their wolfing down their meals, through Mrs. MacGyver's visit and advice session, and through pulling messages off of Tommy's answering machine. There was even a message from Doda on Sunday evening while they were at Café Iberico enjoying tapas.

Patrick wondered where Teresa was getting her patience. He'd known her more for her long-suffering than for her calm, and the pain-filled wailing from the child was almost too much for even him.

He forced a smile as he wrote down the number Doda had left the night before. Yes, when they had returned to the apartment after dinner, they'd been a little too preoccupied with falling into each other's arm to think of checking for messages. The memory made the smile on his lips more sincere. Sex with Teresa was _still_ a preoccupation of his. He looked at Teresa on the rocker with Daniel in her arms trying to get the boy to be calm. The softness of her face, the slim form stooped slightly over the baby, her gentle fingers caressing the kid's forehead; it wasn't the wedding night with his lovely bride that he'd envisioned, but it wasn't unexpected. Not much love gets made when there's an infant in the house. Not slow, serious lovemaking anyway. But looking like that, with the beatific look on her face and the low murmur on her soft lips, she caused his heart to race with desire. The effort to arrange a quickie would be entirely worth it.

He caught Teresa's eye by waving the slip of paper with Doda Ofira's number. When he had her attention, he made a great show of putting the paper in her briefcase, even though he had already memorized the number and could provide it for the asking. After she nodded, he crossed to the rocker and gently stroked Daniel's head.

"I think Mrs. MacGyver might be right about taking his diaper off completely and letting him 'air out' for a while. But first we should try giving him his bottle again; to see if we can replace some of the fluids he's crying out."

"But he didn't want it before."

"Meh." _That was then, this is now._

Teresa looked at the baby with worry. Then she began to hum the song he'd heard from her earlier, an old Appalachian folksong called Wildwood Flower. He listened for a moment and then hitched his slacks before settling on the sofa. Amazing! It was working. Daniel's crying was subsiding.

"Teresa," he said, "there's something about you that soothes even the most broken male heart. You're going to be a great mother to this boy."

_Ah! She's recovering! Two days ago, she would have blushed at that compliment. She's getting used to me, to our new status._

"Yes, well, you and I need to talk, sweetheart." She raised her brow and examined his face. "We never discussed adopting him. Where did that come from?"

"We barely talked about getting married either. Have we really had a chance to discuss anything? I just figured that since we didn't know if we'd ever meet with anyone else from Jared's family, we should bring it up with Doda. Just to see what her reaction would be."

That look came over her face, the one she put on when she was struggling to hide her admiration for his quick thinking. He preferred it over the one that she wore when she was thoroughly irritated with him.

"I'm sorry. I know I should have brought it up when I thought of it."

"And when did you think of it?"

He started to answer but paused. The truth was a little awkward. He hadn't anticipated her asking that.

"Uh…2010?" he ventured, lying profusely.

Goldfish impersonation? Didn't suit her, but he found it adorable anyway, especially when it turned into an amused smile. Tossing her out of her expectations could be pretty amusing for both of them.

"Patrick…"

"Okay, okay, it first crossed my mind at the Daley Center after we got married."

"Liar," she said.

He gaped for a moment. How did she know? Maybe she didn't.

"Is this a fishing expedition?" he asked, squinting at her and lifting the corner of his mouth in a wry way.

Her smile spread into a grin that absorbed her entire expression.

"You're guessing, my smart cop."

"A truthful person would have immediately denied it and then protested his innocence, my too-clever-for-his-own-good consultant."

_Busted!_ But at the same time he was proud of her. She _was_ a smart cop, the smartest he knew.

"When I removed my wedding band," he said softly.

Again, the goldfish impersonation, only this time it remained one.

"Er…uh…"

"No…actually…it was before that. It was when you first told me you were going to call DCFS to come take Daniel. By the time I reached the bottom of the steps and sat down, I'd realized that it was what I wanted for us. I was saddened that we wouldn't have it."

"Patrick…"

"I mean, it seems to make sense to adopt him, Teresa. And we can name him Lisbon. It doesn't have to be Jane. I just…I just want us to be a complete family with no exceptions. I want him to call you 'Mommy' and me 'Dad', instead of 'Auntie Reese' and 'Uncle Paddy'. It's…it's important to me."

"Oh god…"

_What have I done?_

Her complexion grew pale and she stopped rocking the chair, the topic making her forget it completely. But what could he do now? The truth was out, his sad desperation to be a father again and do it right, not screw it up with arrogance and greed.

"You…you didn't…marry…"

"No!" he said forcefully, then covered his mouth and looked at Daniel. His outburst hadn't disturbed the boy. He continued more softly. "God, Teresa, no, I asked you to marry me because I love you. If this situation hadn't intensified things, I would have eventually admitted to myself how much you'd come to mean to me. I already knew I couldn't live without you. Whether we have children together is up to you, but I did ask for your hand for _you,_ the most wonderful lady in the world. Please believe me."

A lone tear slipped from her eye as she nodded and looked back at the babe in her arms. With a soft push from her foot, she began to rock again.

"A-anyway…" He was filling a void, at a loss on what to say next. It didn't happen very often. "Anyway, let me get Daniel's bottle warmed up again and see if we can get him to take some formula. I'm concerned about dehydration."

He stood and hurried to the kitchen. After washing his hands, he drew Daniel's bottle from the fridge and felt it. It was still slightly warm from the earlier attempt to feed the boy. Jane loosened the cap and set the bottle in the microwave for reheating. Then he leaned against the counter and bowed his head.

_I love you, Teresa. I never wanted to make life harder for you. _

She hadn't answered the question about adopting the boy. Maybe she intended Daniel to always know he was another person's child – to know who his mother and father were and that they loved him until the end. It was a worthy legacy, and he deserved to know about his real parents.

But at the same time, Daniel was worthy of love by two living parents – the pure affection that came from a mom and a dad. To be able to proudly say 'These are my parents, this is my family' is an experience unique to having parents.

However, that was Patrick's burden and he knew it to be something he was projecting into the boy's life. It was something he had missed from his own life – pride in his heritage. He never had that as a boy. Being a carnie kid generally meant being cautious of showing where he came from, always gauging if his background would raise a sneer from someone outside the carnie life.

And sometimes inside it, too. The name of Jane wasn't always pleasant to bear. Often it was equated with arrogance and smug intelligence, as well as – in the case of his father – a sudden urge to watch one's wallet.

The microwave beeped so Patrick removed the bottle and carefully checked the temperature. The formula was just a little too warm. Blocking the nipple, he shook the bottle vigorously and checked again, just in case it was a hot spot within the liquid. When it proved not to be the case, he ran cool water on the outside for a while and shook it again. After another test, he found it to be perfect.

He brought it back to Teresa and smiled as she held the side of the bottle up to her cheek and then her lips, just as he'd done the last time they tried to feed Daniel.

_Fast learner. My smart cop._

"Fingers crossed," he said as she brought the nipple to the boy's lips.

The baby latched on and suckled hard. Both adults heaved a sigh of relief.

"That's great," Patrick said. "We'll keep an eye on him and make certain to give him a thorough burping. As it is, we're in danger of a night with a colicky baby."

"Poor thing," Teresa murmured.

"No…he's not 'poor thing'," he said firmly. "The foolish family who doesn't love him won't be part of his life now and that's good. Despite everything that has happened to him, he has family who will protect him and show him how treasured he is, something neither of _us_ got to enjoy as children, Teresa. Hell, your childhood ended at twelve, mine at seven. If anyone could be considered 'poor things', it would be you and me, and we turned out pretty damned well."

She stared at him a moment, appalled at his brusque tone and dark words, but he could see her thoughts transforming as his meaning sunk in.

"Yes…he's been through a lot, but that's over. You're right. I shouldn't pity him, any more than I pity myself for what I went through."

Not being able to stop himself, he caressed the soft dark hair on Daniel's head. He smiled at Teresa.

"And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about adopting him. You and I haven't discussed any of your plans for raising him."

"Do people ever really discuss bringing up their baby?" she asked. "I mean, yes, they may talk about the kind of daycare they'll have or the school they want, but…isn't it all just taking it as it comes?"

Now he got to practice the goldfish impressions. How to put it?

"Yes and no, Teresa. I mean, most of the time all that is sorted out by the time people get married. And even then details are refined during the 'should we get pregnant?' discussion. By the time the nine months have passed, everything that's buzzing in the background has flown into the foreground. Even if it's not discussed directly, it's conveyed intuitively. And if it hasn't been, that's when trouble starts.

"We're in a unique situation –"

"Tell me about it," she murmured, adjusting Daniel on her arm. He opened his eyes briefly and she gave him a wide-eyed, full-faced grin. "Hello there, hungry boy! Are you taking your bottle? What a good boy."

Patrick grinned as the Glock Mistress made baby noises at the four-month-old. Yes, she sure would be a good mother.

"We're in a unique situation," he said again. "But as much as I want to think that my experience as a father should take precedence here, I know that really he's yours. I'm here to support _you_ by supporting him."

She paused in her silly expressions as if thinking of a response, until a cooing laugh from Daniel made her start up again.

_At least she heard me. Whether she believes it is another story._

* * *

Daniel nearly finished his bottle, but Teresa took it away before he began sucking air. Patrick smiled proudly as she handed it over. He hadn't needed to remind her.

"Did you Google 'feeding techniques' too?" he asked and then was glad he'd gotten the bottle from her, preventing her from throwing it at his head. Instead he got a glare that turned rueful.

"Shut up and get me a towel," she said, rising to her feet and rocking him very gently.

"Oh, hold up, hold up. No movement yet, Teresa. Big bottle on a previously upset stomach, remember."

He half-ran to retrieve the towel, ignoring the surprise then unease that came to her face. Hurrying back, he folded the soft fabric and set it on her shoulder from behind. As she brought Daniel up, the baby let loose with remarkable ease. With slight horror, Patrick felt it splash on his chest.

"So much for the silk wedding tie," he murmured, bringing the corner of the towel up to the baby's face. "No, Teresa, don't turn. I'm wiping his mouth."

Daniel stared at Patrick, his head bobbling a little. Then a slight sparkle came to his big brown eyes as he smiled and spit up again. This time Patrick caught it with the towel.

"Good boy, Daniel," he said, grinning. "Okay, Teresa, he's probably ready for a little rocking and rolling. Just be easy."

As he came around to leave for Tommy's room and his change of clothes, Teresa snorted in laughter. He gave her a knowing look.

"Just you wait," he said. "Your suit is next."

It wiped the laughter right off her lips just as he knew it would. That was her court suit for when she testified on behalf of CBI. Baby vomit might as well be battery acid.

He removed his jacket and wiped down his vest before taking it off. He tossed the tie in the garbage, consoling himself about the loss with the idea that he used to blow large amounts of money on less worthy things back when he was a 'psychic'. In those days, he would have considered a hundred dollar tie to be a 'cheap' one.

He changed into his sleeping t-shirt and pajamas, wondering if he should borrow one of Tommy's t-shirts which would have been a little smaller and tighter, showing off his chest. Teresa had already commented once about his build, and her stares back in the hotel room had screamed her attraction to his muscles. Maybe a little flexing would bring the mood around even faster.

Which reminded him…he needed to get to the gym or out for a run or something. He was starting to feel a little flabby.

Passing the bathroom on his way back to the living room, he grabbed a fresh towel and tossed it over his shoulder.

"How is he doing?" he asked as he approached Teresa with open arms.

Her gaze swept over his body as a grin spread over her face.

"He's fine," she said, her voice a purr.

Her chin came up and she puckered her lips as invitation. He pecked them and reached for the boy.

"Uh uh," she said as she moved the baby away. "A real kiss, papa."

_Papa_. Why did that sound so good? He felt a wave of pleasure flush through him as he leaned forward to kiss her.

For real. Their first kiss since the "I do" before the judge and this one not nearly as innocent. In fact it was hotter than hell, with her caressing tongue sliding in next to his and her humming groan floating to his ear. She was so soft, so warm, so loving.

And so very desirable.

He broke off the kiss with reluctance, feeling his heart in his throat as if trying to leave his chest to re-join hers. Separating just a little he felt her sigh on his lips, drawing him back to her kiss.

"My love, we need to get the baby to sleep. And then we can begin stage one of our wedding night."

"Yes…" she breathed. "I want to feel that magic again, my wonderful magician."

He grinned. "I think you've got that backwards, Teresa. You're the magician. You took a bitter, hopeless, curmudgeon of a man, living in a very dark, very evil place, and with a gentle hand you brought him back into the light. Despite the pain and heartache he caused you, you never gave up. Now that's quite a trick, my dear."

Again she sighed against his lips. "You give me too much credit, sweetheart."

The desire to kiss her again was stronger than ever, but Danny really needed to be put to bed.

"No, I think your credit score is just about right. Perhaps you can cash it in for sainthood someday."

She gave a low sexy laugh that spoke volumes about her sensuous mood. "Maybe I can cash it in for a sinner tonight."

"I'll do my best," he said.

Sweet lips parted as he explored with a gentle tongue, stroking and caressing. The heat of her body against his hard-on and his chest sent waves of desire through him…until that distinctive sound interrupted. It was followed by the scent of warmed formula.

Teresa bit him in surprise.

A soft 'ow' escaped him as they separated hurriedly. Holding his mouth, he stepped around her to check the incident.

"You're in luck; he made the towel," he told her. "But I think you'd better give him to me while you change out of your suit before it's involved in an accident."

He flattened down the towel on his shoulder and they smoothly transferred Daniel. It prompted a little bit of crying but Teresa rubbed his back and spoke to him until the baby settled down again.

_Yes, she is magical._

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	47. C47 - Long Night

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Dear readers, my beta reader/crit partner _**Cumberland River Relic**_ made a quip in his critique comments about his monitor that was too funny. I don't want to steal his material, so I hope he shares it with you! Please encourage him by going to read his story **I Remember You** which has a goodly mix of thrilling action, pathos, romanticism and humor that I know you'll enjoy. You have him to thank that I'm continuing this story so quickly since his encouragement really keeps me going.

You also have MakeMineAKiaora to thank since her wonderfully pedantic editing eye doesn't let me get away with much. I'm looking forward to the next chapter of Just A Little Bit, a story tagged to follow 05x22. Check it out. Leave a review. Cheer her on!

* * *

**Be warned.** This chapter is borderline porn, since it's all lust and physical avarice. Almost an M rating. If you're not into that sort of thing, skip to C48 (coming soon, no doubt) and just assume that Teresa and Patrick really appreciated their wedding night.

* * *

**Chapter 47**

Teresa turned over in bed, trying to ignore the sunlight bouncing off the neighboring house and through the window. She shifted on the damp towel under her, seeking a dry comfortable spot and realizing that there wasn't one.

There couldn't be after last night.

Hmmm last night! Gawd…how did he do that? There was one benefit to being married to this insomniac; he was ready to go all night long.

It was a cycle, actually. It had started with that first amazing orgasm, one that filled her usually well-grounded mind with flashes of colors in flight and sparkling fireworks that exploded her head with light. Her soul left her body to soar amongst the stars, only to return to find herself in his sweet embrace. She fell asleep to both his sweet nothings that filled her heart with affection and his strong heartbeat under her ear that brought complete contentment.

Then Daniel fussed, waking her. It took a moment to realize what was happening, what that sound was, but by then Patrick was out of bed and tending to him, changing the discomforted little boy's diaper and telling her everything was fine.

She fell back into slumber until soft kisses and intimate caresses aroused her and they made love again. With a glow of satisfaction, she fell asleep again…until Daniel woke them once more.

This happened three times. Four orgasms in one night! No man had ever even _tried_ to do that, much less succeed in bringing her off more than twice.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. And probably no man had selflessly volunteered to allow his sleep to be disturbed so often because of a baby. Didn't parents work out some kind of alternating responsibility schedule or something?

Come to think on it, she realized he didn't always get to climax. Yes, he came the first time and the last time, but after the second and third times, he diverted her attention to sleep rather than allow her to concentrate on his satisfaction. Pangs of guilt ran through her. She felt so selfish.

But…wow, he was incredible!

The water of the shower began beating a light drumming against the thin bathroom wall, prompting flashes in her imagination. She wished she had x-ray vision so she could see his hard, sexy body soaping up, the water racing down like a silky sheath hugging his bulging muscles, hs strong hand massaging the shampoo through his wet hair…

Oh god, working with him was going to be impossible! How on earth would she be able to concentrate on her job when just his smile would bring out her hitherto unknown nympho-maniacal tendencies?

From by the door she heard a small cough, a sound echoed in the baby monitor on Patrick's side of the bed. Daniel's crib was just inside the door. Patrick must have brought it back in from Tommy's room where he'd put it for the night so their passion wouldn't disturb the boy's sleep.

Teresa threw off the covers and sat up, reaching for the football jersey to cover her nude body. Once it was donned, she stood and crossed to the crib, in passing marveling at how sore her sex was, feeling distinctly well-used.

And of course feeling deliciously well-sated.

She shut off the monitor and stared at the child. What a beautiful boy he was! His face was the spit and image of Annabeth when she was an infant, except for the rich, brown eyes and thick, shiny black hair. Those gorgeous additions must have come from Jared since Annie's mother Lucilla was of fair-haired Irish stock.

Funny. She hadn't noticed how the boy was different than Annie. All this time, she only knew that he was her nephew and that she loved him. Now that she was considering his calling her 'Mommy' instead of 'Auntie', it all seemed so much more significant that he didn't look like her…or Patrick, his future 'Daddy'.

But why would that matter? It didn't make any difference to Patrick, the man who noticed and weighed everything. He adored the child. Hell, he would have even if Daniel had purple-green stripes with a spare hand growing out of his ear.

She sighed heavily. And he would love the boy even being called 'Uncle Paddy' by him. Whether she was called Mommy or Auntie Reese wouldn't matter to her either, but the question was what was best for Danny? It was important to her that the memory of Annie and Jared didn't die. They were good people and they brought this wonderful little boy into the world. He should know about them, know what they'd done for him by giving him life.

Yet…Patrick was right. Life for the boy should be as 'normal' as possible and that meant having a mom and dad and a house and the ability to go into school feeling like he's as good as everyone else. He should say that he's got a backyard with a dog and a little sis—

Teresa gasped. _Noooooo, no, no, no! No little sister or brother for Danny!_ No babies. She was already too old for a first pregnancy, and to wait a few years till their lives were more settled would only make the process more difficult. No, first thing back in Sacramento, she was going to make an appointment with the OB-GYN and get her birth control prescription renewed.

_No babies!_

* * *

Patrick shut off the water, frowning at the bang on the pipes. It hadn't bothered him after previous uses of the shower, but now it reminded him of a time years before, a time of cheap hotels with fifteen carnies taking turns using the shower. Or of noisy campground facilities where even a fire hose blasting disinfectant would have no effect on the moldy walls of grimy bathrooms.

And why was he suddenly plagued with these memories? Because the future was so much more important now. He had a child to care for, one whose future must be so much better than his own past.

After shaking the water from his limbs, he stepped from the shower and grabbed the towel hanging on the wall bar. It was weird, he knew, but he almost swapped use of his blue towel for Teresa's green one just because of the thought that it had been in such close contact with her body. Intimacy by proxy.

He smiled ruefully. The woman didn't know what she was in for. She always assumed that he didn't like to be hugged because he wasn't 'touchy-feely'. The truth was that he loved hugs. They were a tremendous turn-on to him, sometimes prompting inappropriate desires when hugged by women. It was like Lisbon and turtlenecks; hugs flipped his switch and he needed to be careful about sharing them. Although he could shut it down with biofeedback – and on this trip he'd had to frequently – it was draining and he avoided it when possible. Now whenever she even touched him, it would result in a raging hard-on. Their working relationship was going to be a test. A test? Hell, it was going to be a storm, especially after last night when his randy nature had been reawakened with almost embarrassing repetition. He had given it free rein, wanting nothing less than to fill his ears with her impassioned moans and feel her heat on his body as he savored the life-force coursing through him.

He smirked as he glanced down the mirror. His body was getting ready again. Could the poor woman stand it?

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom and headed for where she lay sleeping.

Except that she wasn't sleeping. She stood next to the crib, holding Daniel in her arms and singing softly to him as she bobbed gently at the knee. The look of contentment on her face was beyond sweet; it practically glowed.

"Good morning," he said.

She looked up, startled. Then the contented expression took on a little bit of fire in her eyes as a wicked smile crossed her lips.

"Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

He smiled and turned toward Tommy's room and his suitcase. "Are you talking to me or our darling boy?"

"You, of course. I can tell already that Daniel is doing fine. You did a marvelous job taking care of him all night…and me, too."

He moved back to look again at her delicious, naughty twinkle sparking in her eye. He didn't need a hug at that point, just that beautiful face with its appreciative expression.

"Be careful, my lady," he said, teasing. "Just because it's daytime doesn't mean I can't take you right back to bed."

Blushing, she looked at the baby on her shoulder.

"As much as I would love to spend the day that way, we have too much to get done today. Saint Michael's is coming for the donations tomorrow. We need to get this stuff packed up."

"Oh, Agent Lisbon, you're so responsible. Can't you just be a porn star for another twelve hours?"

She gave a small gasp and turned a little redder.

"You…you…just get dressed, so you can watch Daniel while I shower."

"Can I watch you shower instead?"

"Patrick!"

He snickered and returned to Tommy's room to get his clothes. God, he loved being married to her. Doda Ofira was right; this was the start of something wonderful.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	48. C48 - Full Disclosure

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

Thanks to Cumberland River Relic for the line about the paternity tests. His subtle humor is such an asset to the fanfiction community. Thank you, CRR! And thanks to MakeMineAKioara for taking the time to serve as a beta reader and reality nudger. However, all mistakes you may find in this chapter are mine. I'm always so excited to post, I miss stuff that is pointed out to me.

* * *

**Chapter 48**

Despite how sore Teresa felt, she was able to get a lot of packing done in Annie and Jared's room while Patrick watched and played with Daniel. Then she fed and changed the boy while Patrick over-dramatically donned gloves and tackled Tommy's room. When Daniel fell asleep, she gave Patrick a hand in sorting through all the junk. She thanked Providence that Tommy hadn't put the safe in his room; it would have been lost forever.

Around noon they stopped for lunch, catching the tail-end of the local news while they sat on the sofa, slurping hot soup and splitting a sandwich. Teresa was irked that her favorite teams lost their games over the previous weekend, and as Patrick was mockingly consoling her about it, the closing story caught her eye.

It was a picture of a man kneeling before a woman sitting on the Picasso statue at the Daley Center Plaza. Teresa tore the remote from table and cranked the volume.

"…Like she caught her man again. The couple in this human interest story from this morning's Chicago Tribune—"

Patrick took the remote emphatically and turned the volume down again.

"You'll wake the baby."

She gawked at him and then the TV. "But… but…"

"—has been tentatively identified as the man and woman who caught the notorious serial killer Red John. County records show a completed marriage certificate for Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane both of the California Bureau of Investigation, although neither could be reached for comment.. Congrats to the heroic couple.

"And now? Stay tuned to Channel Eight for more paternity tests on 'Paury Movich', followed by 'Ballbusting Badminton', right here on Chicago's very own WG—"

Patrick burst out in full laughter, falling back against the sofa and nearly spilling his soup when he kicked up his leg. Teresa stared at him in shock.

"What is so damned funny?"

The toothless-relatives-fighting-before-a-live-audienc e programming came on so she pressed a button on the remote, shutting off the TV with annoyance.

"Oh, come on, Reeza! You have to admit that it's hilarious!"

He'd started calling her 'Reeza' the night before during his orgasm when he repeatedly panted the word with intensity, seeming to be exploding. Now he'd been using the name all morning. She wasn't sure how she felt about it yet but she kept seeing his face at that moment. How could she remain irritated with him?

"Trick, we are supposed to keep this secret until I can figure out what to do about work."

"Looks like it's out of our hands now."

It was tempting to punch the grin off his face, but instead she rose to her feet and dug her phone out of her briefcase. The thing wouldn't turn on.

"What the hell…?"

"Battery is probably dead. When did you last charge it?"

Of course! It was an old battery. She knew she had to charge it every night. This was getting ridiculous. Crossing to the kitchen, she plugged her phone into the wall and turned it on. The screen flashed red and gave a warning not to use the phone until it had more power, something she'd never seen before.

"Patrick? Let me use your phone. I need to call Cho."

He looked up, still grinning. "This should be good," he said, drawing his phone from his vest pocket and handing it over as she sat next to him.

"Shut up." She tapped him lightly on his arm.

"Whup, the honeymoon's over. Spousal abuse."

"Shut up," she said again. Powering up his phone, she found the number in his contact list and selected it.

* * *

Cho sat at his desk, staring blankly at the report in front of him but not seeing it. Not seeing anything but what his imagination conjured – a graystone county building and two familiar names on a government form.

What the hell? _What the hell?_

They all had been wondering what was going on with Lisbon. No one had heard at all from her directly since she and Jane flew to Chicago. He knew Boss checked her voice mail and her email… or someone had. With Jane in the picture, there was no guarantee of privacy or security. And when they'd left California, Jane was in full operations mode, having formulated a plan for getting Lisbon through the task that lay before her. At the time, Cho had to admire how quickly and thoroughly the mentalist's mind worked, but there was that scary aspect of dealing with all the unknowns Jane's process kicked up. What trouble would his unconventional approach cause Lisbon?

Well, Cho had his answer now. A reporter had called that morning trying to confirm a story and proceeded to ask probing questions. Were CBI Agent Teresa Lisbon and CBI Consultant Patrick Jane in Chicago? And had they married on Monday afternoon in the Daley Center? How long had they been dating? How long were they engaged? Would they continue to work together? Was an interview possible? What was the purpose of their visit? Did it have anything to do with the death of Thomas Lisbon of Chicago whose death certificate was filed on Tuesday?

Cho had done what he could for damage control, calling in favors with a friend in the Public Relations Department and securing confidences from her, but until he heard from Lisbon or Jane, he was at a loss on what to do about the story. Neither Jane nor Lisbon's phones were on, his calls going directly to voicemail. The phone number Lisbon had left for her brother Tommy just rang. All he could do now was wait until they decided to contact him.

He was betting it would be Jane. Lisbon would be too embarrassed to call him and try to explain.

His desk phone rang. Jane's number displayed as the caller ID. He glanced around the bustling bullpen before picking up.

"Yeah," he said in his usual firm, low tone.

"Cho, it's Lisbon."

"Yeah. Just a sec. I'm going to transfer you."

He placed the call on hold calmly, even though he felt like slamming down the handset. After cancelling the forward order for Lisbon's phone that made all calls come to him, he picked up Lisbon's call again and dialed Lisbon's desk number. Again glancing around the bullpen and being sure no one was paying attention to him, he hurried to her office and picked up the handset.

"Hold on another moment," he commanded, setting the phone on the desk. He closed the blinds and sat down. After taking a deep breath, he put the phone to his ear. "What the hell is going on?"

"Oh. So you've heard already."

Well, that was a surprise. _She_ was calling about it.

"It's true, then? You're married?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat, delaying. "Yes, as of yesterday."

_Damn_. Well, it wasn't entirely unexpected that it happened. They had been attracted to each other for years. He just never thought it would happen during a trip to a family funeral.

"I got a call from a reporter with the Chicago Tribune, asking for confirmation. I didn't know what to do. I called Janet Avery up in Public Relations. She was just as surprised as I am."

"Oh…I'm pretty surprised too…I guess. Hey!" Her voice sounded far from the phone. "Stop that. I'm on the phone. Hey!"

He recognized the words, but the tone was completely wrong. Flirtation? Feminine giggles? What the hell? Had Jane hypnotized her?

Still laughing, she came back. "I can't exactly explain right now, but…but…"

More giggles came which began to soften. After a few moments, she came back with a breathy voice.

"I have to go, Cho. Hold down the fort for me."

And she hung up.

He hung up too, feeling like he should wipe down the phone, clean out his ear and then scrub his brain of the insight. It was like thinking of his parents having sex, something to be avoided if preserving one's appetite is the goal.

Shit! He almost wished he still smoked. He needed a damned cigarette.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	49. C49 - Chess Moves

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thanks so much to the support I always get from my betas **Cumberland River Relic** and **MakeMineAKiaora** although they didn't 'vet' this chapter for me. I apologize to both of them for being in such a hurry today. It's going to be a busy next few days and I just felt anxious to get this posted. No reflection on them that I didn't wait for their feedback. Please go check out their writings; you'll see why I value their input!

* * *

**Chapter 49**

Patrick straightened the misaligned couch cushions while Teresa left to tend Daniel who started crying just as things got interesting. It was probably just as well that the baby fussed right then. The prophylactics were in the bedroom and he wasn't entirely sure they would have stopped to retrieve them at that point, resulting in completely unprotected sex. He certainly couldn't have stopped himself. The pitiful wail, caused by rash discomfort, displaced all passion like nothing else would.

From the monitor, the crying diminished, almost as though Daniel quieted in order to hear Teresa's rich, reassuring tones. Patrick could clearly make out her words about how the diaper rash would be better soon and how much she and Papa loved him.

Papa? Yes, she was referring to him. Guess that settled the question of adoption. _Mama and Papa_. He couldn't wait for the words to come out of Daniel's mouth as well.

He entered the master bedroom and stood next to Teresa as she applied cream to an improved rash. The baby didn't look happy, but he wasn't crying at the moment. It was a good sign.

"He's getting better," Teresa said. "I was worried that he had something worse than diaper rash."

She kept her tone level with what she used for talking to Daniel, but he could hear the anxiety in her voice. It puzzled him. Was it a real concern or just new parent jitters?

"What's worse than diaper rash?" he asked.

Startled, she looked up from fastening the tabs at Daniel's side. A smile played on her lips a minute and disbelief came to her eyes.

"And here I thought you knew everything about babies."

"I only know what I've seen, been told or have read about. Tell me what I don't know and then I'll know it."

Still she looked dubious. "Oookay. Did you know that babies don't get strep throat infections like older people? That they get a rash on their bodies instead? It can be a very serious infection."

Patrick stared off for a moment, examining the information in his memory palace about baby care before moving on to what he knew about strep. No connection.

"I did not know that. I'll have to read up on the subject. When did you find out about it? And where?"

"Yesterday," she said, smugness taking over from the soft "Mama" voice. "When you were making fun of me for googling diaper rash."

"Ah. Well…forty lashes with a wet noodle for me…although my sexual fetishes don't run toward BDPM."

Her brow knit a little and she paused in checking the fit around Daniel's waist. "Bee dee _PEE_ em?"

"Bondage, dominance, pasta masochism."

She snorted and stooped over Daniel, suppressing her laughter. Then she smiled at him and his heart grew three sizes.

"You're funny," she said.

Before answering, he examined her entire face. How had such an honest, deeply caring, sincerely compassionate woman come to have any feelings for him? Come to _marry_ him?

"And you're beautiful," he said with sincerity and emotion. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I love you."

The deep blush that blossomed on her full, round cheeks turned his smile to a grin. He kissed her cheek.

"Maybe you should bring the boy. He'll stop me from behaving inappropriately."

Before she could answer, he turned around and left for the living room. He heard her laugh and say, "Maybe I _want_ that behavior."

Still grinning, he picked up the dishes from their lunch and wiped the table with his napkin before heading to the kitchen. Setting the plates and glasses in the sink and plugging it, he added soap and water and then washed his hands, leaving the dishes in the suds. Then he prepared Daniel's bottle and put it in the microwave.

He picked up Teresa's phone to check it, wondering what message Cho had undoubtedly left for her when he found out about the marriage. Despite having been plugged in for half an hour, the battery didn't appear to be taking a charge. They'd have to go shopping for a replacement. Besides, they needed more boxes for packing.

It would be interesting. Teresa needed to be exposed to what it is like to have a baby in tow when trying to do normal things in life. Being the patient woman that she was with the needy, it probably wouldn't be a problem, but he could wait to watch her adapt to her new reality.

The microwave beeped so Patrick removed and tested the bottle. Nearly perfect. Now to get the boy to eat. He'd been eating okay until then, but with all that was happening, no doubt he'd be off his appetite again soon.

"Who's ready for his bottle?" he said, singing the words lightly and leaving the kitchen. As he started toward the bedroom, Teresa came out with Daniel in her arms. He sighed lightly. God, she looked wonderful, seeming to glow with happiness.

"I think he's hungry," she said.

"What clued you in, agent? The fact that he keeps grabbing your breasts?"

The embarrassed smile she flashed him was just as adorable as her contented one.

"I'd be jealous," he added playfully, "if it weren't for the fact that all night I'd had access to them myself."

She rolled her eyes before taking the bottle from his hand and testing it. With a small frown she shook it a little and then tested again.

"Too warm," she said.

He disagreed, but anything to let her 'off the hook' so to speak. If she wanted to change the subject, it was probably just as well.

"We can wait a little longer. Obviously Daniel isn't uncomfortable. In fact, considering all he's been through, he's adapting to you being his mother with amazing ease. You won't ever replace Annie as his mom, but you _will_ be the woman who loves him with all her heart and he'll feel that for the rest of his life."

Her face pinched as she absorbed his words, her lower lip trembling a little. She shook the bottle again and tested it once more before offering it to the baby who took it immediately. It helped a little at removing the sorrow from her expression.

Remorse filled Patrick for making her feel sad, even though he'd intended it as a compliment. He hurried to the rocker and held it for her to settle into. When she did, he excused himself to retrieve a burping towel to have handy when she needed it.

After returning, he sat on the sofa watching the idyllic scene. Momma Teresa singing lightly to the boy as he suckled. The light from the windows created a slight halo around her hair, which was still disheveled from their heavy petting on the couch. He kinda hoped that when they returned to work at CBI, she would choose to wear her hair in a tight bun so he wouldn't be reminded of how tousled it could look from making love. Maybe there really was something to the edict that they couldn't work together in the same unit. It could be a real problem getting him to remain on task when the memory of a naked Teresa Lisbon could destroy his concentration on a case. How many criminals would go free just because he was distracted by planning his next seduction of her? Or hoping for her seduction of him?

Actually, would they be allowed to work together? It was evident Cho knew about their marriage, right down to knowing it was consummated, not just true on paper. He stopped himself from laughing at the thought of stoic, self-suppressed Cho staring at the phone wishing fervently that he hadn't just experienced a turned-on Lisbon hanging up on him. Patrick felt like a little bit of a devil for the collateral damage of burning Cho's "impressionable" ears, but while Teresa was on hold, she had exhibited such guilt for having to call her Number One with such disturbing news, that the unit was about to change dynamics completely. He needed to remind her of the rewards of doing something in one's own self-interest once in a while. If orgasms from Heaven were her reward, Teresa was nearly ready to be sainted for sure!

But if Cho knew, who else knew by now?

Well…every viewer of the Chicago Noontime news broadcast, of course, but who at CBI? Patrick picked up his phone from the floor where it landed when they'd knocked it off the sofa's armrest during their sexual wrestling. Flipping it open, he found three missed calls and four texts, most from Cho.

One of the missed calls was from Bertram, not long after Cho's first call. Interesting, and yet not that surprising.

"Oh!" he said with nonchalance. "Guess I'd better return this call."

He hit 'dial' and rose to leave, to make the call in private. Then it hit him.

Teresa was his wife. He couldn't keep secrets from her anymore. It would be wrong.

_Shit…_

No helping it. The phone was now ringing not Gale Bertram's office in the capital building but instead his personal cellphone.

"Jane, you son of a bitch!"

"Well, good afternoon to you too," he said in his most pleasant voice. Maybe not having to go through Bertram's secretary was better, anyway. Could he pull this off? Teresa was awfully smart. "It's good of you to take my call."

"What the hell have you done? You've ruined the career of one of the brightest agents this bureau has ever had! I can't allow her to remain with CBI if she's married to one of our damned consultants." The word 'consultant' was spit out like the bite into an apple that exposed only half of a worm. "You're a complete bastard! Do you know that?"

"That would be true if you adhere to certain assumptions like you have."

"What? What assumptions?"

"I might not be able to stay to advise."

"You'd leave? What the hell would _you_ do if you didn't work here? How are you employable?"

"Oh…you know." He kept his voice light and carefree. "The future is a bright and sunny place. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

"Yeah, you damned thief. You'd pick the lock to get through the gate."

"That is one of my many talents, but you know, all of life is a gamble."

Bertram growled over the phone.

"Gamble, huh? So you'd just set yourself up in a casino someplace and play poker until Lisbon came home with the real money."

"You know, marketing and good press is always beneficial, and thoughtful promotion can bring real change."

"Enough of the damned clichés already, Jane."

"The solution is simple. The game is won when you move the right chess pieces around."

Bertram was silent, evidently calming down enough to start thinking. The background noise was enough of a clue to guess where he was: an adult video store, one of those with the private viewing booth. It was Bertram's secret vice. Patrick had been aware of the big boss's weakness for peepshows for years but held knowledge of it in reserve for when he needed to put the head of California law enforcement in a corner.

Maybe he'd hold onto the knowledge just a little longer. Beside, Patrick was starting to appreciate what he suspected Cho went through earlier that day when Lisbon hung up on him. It was slightly nauseating.

"Especially if you move the queen," Patrick said, continuing the metaphor.

"You mean…to Special Agent in Charge?"

"The king doesn't necessarily have to stay with the queen. It works pretty well with the bishop, especially if the bishop, the rook and the knight move into proper position. It's all about placement of your strongest players left on the board."

"Really? You'd talk Cho into moving up the chain of command? We've been trying for years, dammit. Years!"

"Well, you never considered moving the queen before, did you? You always have to be careful with the bishop. It's a very powerful piece. Nearly as useful as the queen. If you place those two carefully, the rook and the knight can remain near the king and the game is essentially won."

"Ah…but I'd need to keep Cho near you to keep you in line, since you'll run rings around Rigsby and Van Pelt."

"Meh. The king doesn't need to do much to be effective anymore, and it's always worked well with the red knight. The rook? Well, it takes planning to get it in its most useful place on the board, but it will just do its thing no matter what you do with it."

"Two birds with one stone," Bertram said. "If we keep Van Pelt in Serious Crimes with you and Cho, and move Rigsby to his own unit –"

"There's a spot open on the board already. You should consider it."

"Yes, the Organized Crimes Unit needs a Senior Agent in Charge since Mallory decided to join the FBI. So…Van Pelt and Rigsby can keep their personal status quo, so to speak, because they're no longer working in the same unit. As can you and Agent Lisbon."

"Oh, you know it will remain as is, anyway."

He smiled as he said, glancing at Teresa who was looking very thoughtful. Yes, she had been listening. Yes, she was starting to figure it out.

"Well, it was nice talking with you. Feel free to call the next time you need advice on strategy."

"Jane-"

He disconnected the call and set the phone on the table, hiding behind a benign smile.

"Chess lessons, huh?"

"Uh huh."

"It sounded like you were giving excellent advice."

"I try."

Daniel captured her attention by spitting out the nipple of the bottle. When she put it back in, he didn't latch onto it.

"Had enough, eh?" Teresa looked at Patrick and held out her hand, but he rose to place the towel for her. "Thank you."

He kissed her on the crown of her head and reached to take the bottle from her. When she handed it over, he examined what was left.

"He did very well," he said.

"Glad to hear it. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

That wasn't a surprise. No doubt she was expecting all sorts of awful things to happen to the baby. New mothers were like that. He glanced at her belly.

_And just imagine if it were from her womb. _

"We can only do what we can do, my dear," he said, leaving for the kitchen. "I'll go rinse this out."

"You do that. Oh, and when you return? You can tell me what Bertram had to say."

He smiled to himself, almost turning back to share it with her. Yes, there were those brains he'd fallen in love with.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	50. C50 - It Was Then

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

Yes, I'm repeating myself, but my gratitude doesn't end. Thank you to **Cumberland River Relic** and **MakeMineAKiaora** for their beta reading, their critique and their generous support. Cumberland recently posted Chapter 12 (my FAVE cuz of the visual at the end of the chapter - oh be still my...er...heart. yeah, heart...) so if you haven't started reading it yet, go for it! And **Chris** (**MakeMineAKiaora**) just shared an _**EPIC** _story with amazing effort - a complete romance consisting of drabbles themed by alphabetical order.

Oh, but first, read this. :)

* * *

**Chapter 50**

"But…but…I'm confused! He tried to fire me! Just six months ago! And how many times before that, damn it?"

Teresa put her hand to her forehead, staring at the floor but not seeing it as anything but a solid surface as she paced. No wonder Patrick wouldn't talk about it until after they'd spent the hour playing with Daniel and putting him back to bed. Now all she wanted was to yell and swear and punch things. But of course she couldn't. Little Man was sleeping.

"My dear, _listen_ to me," Patrick said using that voice that he had for explaining simple things. "You're the darling of the press now. Not only that, you're the inspiration for female cops in law enforcement across the country, the woman who took down Red John. Hell, for male or female cops everywhere. It's because of you that Bertram has something positive to say at press conferences. In fact, when the next big scandal hits the Department of Justice, don't be surprised if Bertram gets it into his head to have you speak on behalf of CBI."

It knocked the wind out of her and she stared at him in horror. Her eyes felt like they were going to bulge right out of her head.

"Me?" she squeaked.

"You're what Madeleine Hightower would describe as 'golden', my dear."

Hmmm, starting and ending with "my dear". Somehow that always indicated a truth that she couldn't get away from.

"So…now Bertram…likes me? But I thought he was part…"

"Yes, I said before he was part of Red John's organization, but there's no way to prove it. Now that Red John is dead and Stiles and Kirkland are in jail, Bertram seems to have completely disavowed all connection with… the cult, and we'll never be able to prove a connection. We can't even prove that he attended the little secret meetings to watch the murder films that Haffner made of his crimes. Now he's satisfying his… unusual… interests by returning to prior habits."

"Which were?"

"Never you mind. Just know that he's still your boss and I think you'll be able to stay with the CBI _and_ keep your husband and your baby. You just need to accept a small promotion and maybe a little pay increase that might come in handy when you start having to buy diapers. They are really expensive, you know."

She chuckled at the silly expression he assumed with his last sentence. It was odd for him to have commented on the expense of anything, since it was always clear that money meant nothing to him. He never told her, but she always surmised that he tied his former greed to his former desire for fame as a television psychic. Greed and arrogance, he felt, were what killed his wife and child. _His_ avarice. _His_ ego.

_Never mind that Red John was completely insane. But telling him it wasn't his fault has done no good, the stubborn ass._

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Some sad thought just drove off your smile."

Looking at his face, she witnessed the guilt forming there, probably mirroring hers. Or maybe it was just her own guilt for driving away the happy silliness from his contented, self-satisfied eye. She was astonished with herself that she was able to…to _lie_ to protect him from her real thoughts that were of pity for him. She was more astonished when he believed it.

"I…I just was thinking that Bertram got away with being an accessory to murder. He knew—"

"No, as I said before when I told you of my suspicions, I don't think he knew it was Haffner. I really don't. And I don't believe he could have participated himself. He was into watching; that's all."

"But I—"

"Teresa, you need to be concerned with you and your child. The bigger picture here –"

"Our child, Patrick. He's now ours, isn't he?"

It made him smile, the concern in his expression melting into pride. He stood and crossed to her.

"Yes, he is our child." He gathered her in his arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "I confess that I'm trying to manipulate you into not fighting the promotion. As much as I'm going to dislike not working directly with you every day, I'll console myself with seeing you at lunch."

Then he separated a little and winked.

"And of course, across the pillow every night, as you recover your breath after yet another unbelievable flight through heaven."

"Oh, honestly, Patrick!" she protested as he buried his face in the hair on her shoulder and neck. She pushed him off. "Can you think of nothing else but sex at the moment?"

He looked around blankly for a moment as if assessing. "Uh…no?" Once again he took to nuzzling her. She burst into giggles and struggled against him just a little.

"God, you're so horny all the time now."

"What do you expect? I haven't made true, heart-felt love to a woman in eleven years, and now the woman of my dreams enjoys making love to me. It's bound to touch the deepest lizard brain in my psyche. Oh…and you're beautiful. Who wouldn't want to make love to you?"

And with that she felt the stir of a Little Paddy where their bodies pressed together. His hands ran down her back to her ass where he pressed her closer.

"Okay, okay…enough for now," she said pulling away. "We really _do_ need to talk about this."

When she looked at him, he was pouting.

"Stop that. Be serious for just a few more moments."

He shuffled two steps back, bowing and diverting his eyes. "Yyyeessss, mistress."

"Patrick…"

Shifting immediately, he straightened. "Yes, we should discuss what we're going to do."

"Okay. Now…about what Bertram said…"

"Well…implied," he said. "If we were still in Sacramento, I could work on him to make certain it happened. Then again, if we were in Sacramento, none of this would be happening and there wouldn't be any need to work on him. At least not so urgently."

The hint of pain in his eyes stunned her when she realized he was as saddened by the loss of Tommy and Annie as she was. Or was it just _for_ her? He loved her, there was no doubt, and he could be very empathic of the hardship of others. His compassion could be as instant and deep as his callousness sometimes was.

But it reminded of her own pain, the reason for coming to Chicago at all. Family. Loss. Change.

She closed her eyes and struggled against the long-buried memories of her brother and his daughter, way back when, right after Annabeth was born. Tommy was not much more than a child himself, barely over 18, the young idiot. Not yet out of high school, recently wed to his 'lovely' bride, no job and no prospects for having one. Teresa was a baby cop herself at the time and in no position to help. After ten years of taking good care of her brothers, she felt a lot of guilt for not preventing the trouble her baby brother found himself in.

And now she was finally able to come to his rescue by saving his grandson.

_I can't think like that. This isn't about me. I'm not doing this out of guilt. Danny is family._

And yet it _was_ about her. It was about the pain of being too late again, a prominent theme to her history. Too late to stop her father from killing himself. Too late to keep Tommy from ruining his life with an unplanned child and an unwanted marriage. Too late to be there for Annabeth when she needed a stable female to look up to. Too late to keep her brothers from growing to resent each other. Too late to tell all of them one last time that she loved them.

Patrick's hand brushed the hair back from her temple and she opened her eyes.

"You're right, sweetheart," she said, her words choking in her throat as she fought against tears. "It will all work out. I want to have a somewhat normal life for Daniel and for you… _with_ you. And in order to do that, I'm going to have to change my career."

The guilt was almost physical. Yes, her father killed himself, but then the beatings stopped. Yes, Tommy's forced marriage was a disaster, but still, it produced Annabeth. And there was nothing she could have done about how her brothers felt about family. Like Patrick said before, she was the only one who found a way to get over resentment of how they were raised. As terrible as some events had been, there were good things that came from it. Was this just another example of how change would produce a good outcome?

"Advance it, Teresa. Not change. You've always wanted to catch bad guys and stop criminals from hurting others. As a special agent in charge, you'll be able to do that on a grander scale, not just one at a time. Deny it if you think you can, but since Hightower left, all the units except yours have been faltering and their close rates dropping. They need leadership that I know you can provide. C'mon, my love. Admit it to yourself. You're a great boss; you'll be the best thing to ever happen to CBI."

She scoffed lightly as she looked away, but his finger hooked under her chin, bringing her face up again. He peered into her eyes with all seriousness.

"And if you won't do it for yourself, make the effort for Kimball, Wayne and Grace. And if they're not enough incentive, do it for our friend Virgil Minelli. He put a lot of effort into mentoring you, _Agent_ Lisbon. Had it not been for this Red John bullshit, he would have stuck with it until you were ready to take his place."

She pulled away in shock and just a little bit of shame. Yes, he was right. Minelli had been grooming her to take over for him.

"You're going to consider this emotional blackmail…and it is. Do you know who else to do it for?"

There was no helping it; she gasped. Could he possibly mean _him_? Did he really care if she advanced through the ranks of the California Bureau of Investigation?

The longer she stared, the more she knew he _didn't_ refer to himself.

"Don't say it—"

"Annabeth."

_Damn it, he said it._ Her knees unlocked and she would have dropped to the ground if he hadn't grabbed her by her upper arms and guided her to the nearby dining chair. He didn't let her go, still bent over her, very much in her face.

"My dear, you know it's true. To her, you were badass Aunt Teresa, and if you had the opportunity to make an even bigger difference in the world – one that her son has to grow up in – you know she would be cheering you on, telling you to go kick some serious ass. You know it's what she'd want."

"Okay, stop it, Jane! You're being fucking ruthless now."

He reared back and shoved his hands in his pants pockets.

"Yes. I'm being ruthless because it's something you need to hear. I don't know what triggered your ambitions in the past, but right now you need a little kick in the ass to get out of your comfort zone."

"Comfort zone… Comfort zone?!"

The baby monitor echoed her voice, followed by a few gurgles from Daniel. Yes, she was yelling, but dammit, he was starting to really piss her off.

"Jane," she hissed, "I haven't been in a comfort zone since I got involved with that damned case eleven years ago. The man was sick and thoroughly evil. I didn't join law enforcement to become a priest for exorcising demons, for God's sake!"

"No," he said before starting to rock back on his heels and then onto his toes. "And it must be like a real test from your god that the reward seems to be that you're burdened with this child. And even worse, burdened with me, the man who probably made life worse because of all the games I engaged in with that bastard—"

"No! God, no, Patrick. That's not true. I don't blame anyone that dealing with Red John was hard, and I thank God continually to have you in my life. As far as Daniel…well, no, I wish he weren't my responsibility because it means Tommy, Annie and Jared a-a—are dead. I…"

The words echoed through her head again, making her pause. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting around the room.

_I'm done with crying. I'm done. I have to be strong._

She looked up at Patrick again, following his guilt-riddled face as he sank to one knee before her.

"No, Patrick, you are the light of my life." She wondered if he'd be able to hear her, soft as her whisper was. "Daniel is my family and I love him, but you give my life meaning. _True_ meaning." Again she swallowed hard, trying to force her heart out of her mouth. "If you feel that a career move like this is for the best, then I'll give it a try. It certainly would be safer. I mean… it would be cruel to put Daniel's new mother and your new wife at risk. You've both lost too much already."

Patrick leaned forward, placing his head on her lap, pressing into her belly, hugging her along her thighs and around her hips.

"I love you so much," he said. "Maybe I'm being selfish, but I don't want to lose you to anything. Will talking you into a quieter, safer life make you so unhappy that I'll lose you another way? I hope not. I want you to be happy, Teresa. Really I do."

There was no real answer for that. He was right; being turned into a desk jockey wasn't something she looked forward to.

It was then that she caressed his hair and the soft curls she enjoyed running her fingers through when they kissed and especially when they moved together as lovers.

It was then that he lifted his head and looked at her with a gaze filled with complete love and adoration.

It was then that she knew there _was_ a real answer.

She would do anything for the love of him. Just as she had all along.

* * *

To be continued...


	51. C51 - Managerial Responsibilities

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Thank you **Cumberland River Relic** and **MakeMineAKiaora**. Once again your generosity of time as betas and effort as critique partners is greatly appreciated. You two are wonderful writers!

* * *

**Chapter 51**

Cho settled in his chair after a brief trip to the evidence room. He glared at his desk phone, particularly at the red light in the handset flashing rapidly to signify a number of messages. No doubt most of them were for Lisbon. No doubt many of them were from Bertram.

What the hell was Bertram's problem? He kept calling Cho, asking time-wasting questions like "How's your day going?" and "Is the team performing well during Lisbon's time away?" Seriously, Bertram wouldn't call him at home on Thanksgiving, would he? Well, if the director decided to, he'd have to leave a message because Kimball's phone was going to be shut off until Friday morning with the excuse that his phone had been run over by a truck and couldn't be replaced because of the holiday.

The SCU team was supposed to be on call for the holiday weekend but at least they were now splitting it with Major Crimes because of Lisbon's absence. Agent Eliza Smithfield still felt bad about having to convey the news about Lisbon's niece and offered to lend a hand. She talked her unit into helping with the workload, especially when it became known that Jane had gone with Lisbon to Chicago. Was it pity directed at the team for being shorthanded? Or pity that Lisbon's life was going to explode into trouble because Jane was with her?

Cho sighed heavily. The rest of the world had no idea what kind of trouble Jane had really caused the lead agent for Serious Crimes. The pity would really begin when they found out. Maybe it would come to light during the holiday. A major newspaper like the Chicago Tribune was often perused by other papers for breaking stories. This little 'human interest story' as the reporter had called it was a major scandal in the environs of Californian law enforcement.

Regardless, Cho planned to be well away: painted and dressed in camouflage, sleeping under a survivalist canopy of pine boughs at the base of a fallen tree, alone and self-sufficient in the forests of the Mount Zion State Forest. He only needed the one night to fully recharge and regain balance, and it would do him a world of good. Something was required to counter how off-kilter the world became when Lisbon and Jane got married.

Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Jane. Mrs. Teresa Jane. It made him shake his head.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. It was a text from Lisbon.

_Do you know anything about antique baseball cards?_

Cho stared at the message for a long while before answering. _Some. Why?_

_I have some I need to sell. I'll pay you half of what you get if you sell them_.

Cho: _Okay, sounds good. Let me know how you want to handle this._

Twenty minutes later a message came from Jane as Cho was finishing up listening to all the messages in Lisbon's work phone voice mails.

_Lisbon takes it back. She'll give you 25% of the net after shipping._

Now why didn't this surprise Cho? Jane was a real jerk sometimes. He wrote back, _I like the first offer better._

Cho immediately wrote to Lisbon: _What's going on? Jane said 25 per cent of net. What are the cards? Where did they come from?_

There wasn't another message for at least ten minutes. Cho could just imagine the discussion.

His phone vibrated with a note from Lisbon: _I inherited these cards from my brother. In this case, half of what is mine is not his. _Then she wrote: _50% of net if you sell them._

Cho: _How many are there?_

Lisbon: _A couple hu_

Cho sent Lisbon a question mark. She wrote back almost immediately. _Patrick hit send. I was going to say couple hundred. He said thousands._

He lifted his head and stared at the model of the squad car on his desk. _Shit, she just called him 'Patrick'._ She really needed to be careful about the familiarities. Besides, it was just…weird.

Then Cho wrote: _Thousands?_

The next text was from Jane. _We'll take care of it._

Cho was about to reply when Van Pelt exclaimed "Oh my god! They're married!"

Cho looked over at Grace Van Pelt's desk where she stared open-mouthed at her computer monitor, her gaze dashing across the screen. Her mouth opened and closed in the ever-decreasing manner of a pet fish about to be a candidate for the Latrine Farewell, the One-Flush Salute.

"Who?" Rigsby asked.

When she didn't answer, Cho glanced around the bullpen, nearly empty because people had already begun to depart for their holiday, despite it not yet being noon. He stood and crossed to her desk to view what had stunned her so.

It was the Chicago Tribune story. "Correction to Tuesday's image story: the human interest photo of the man proposing to a woman in front of the Picasso in Richard J Daley Plaza has been recognized as Patrick Jane kneeling before Teresa Lisbon. Cook County records confirmed they were married immediately after the photo was taken. Ms. Lisbon is an agent with the California Bureau of Investigation. Mr. Jane is a consultant for that same agency and also widower of a victim of Red John, a serial murderer who was shot and killed earlier this year. The couple could not be reached for comment."

"Wayne," Cho said. He looked around and then waved for the tall man to come closer.

"I have an internet alert set up to notify me when 'Red John' shows up as a new item," Van Pelt said. "You know. Just in case one of the hidden disciples makes a move. There were lots of hits after we got him but..._this?" _She tapped her computer screen. _"This _is crazy."

"Insane," Rigsby said. "How do they make up with these crap ideas?"

"They don't," Cho said. He jammed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. After a quick look around the now empty bullpen, he added, "This is true."

Rigsby and Van Pelt stared at him a moment. Then she turned to her keyboard and started to type. "I'll check the Cook County records myself."

"No! Not at work," Cho said. In a hushed voice he added, "Let the powers that be find out in their own way, rather than IT possibly telling management."

Van Pelt stopped and then lowered her hands to her lap.

"Listen, it's almost lunch. Meet at Grady's Pub in twenty minutes."

* * *

After the food was served and Cho was certain there would be no interruption from the waiter, he leaned forward and spoke in quiet tones.

"I received a call on Boss's extension from a Chicago reporter who was trying to confirm that _the_ Patrick Jane and _the_ Teresa Lisbon identified in the picture and on the marriage certificate were _our_ Jane and Lisbon. I told him that I'd get back to him. Then I texted Janet Avery, calling in a favor to keep it quiet until we could hear something definitive."

"So is it true?" Van Pelt asked. Her face was a mix of hope and anxiety. "Are they married?"

Cho sighed heavily. "It appears to be so. I texted Lisbon right after talking to Avery but I got no answer. I also tried to call Jane but it went right to voice mail, so he must have had his phone off. About an hour later Boss called me on Jane's phone, saying it was true." He swallowed and sat back, looking around the room. "But then she got very tightlipped about it. I couldn't seem to get much out of her at all. Not long later, Jane called. Said he got my voicemail and asked what happened. He then asked me to talk to Avery and try to delay confirming with the press in hopes the story will die down."

Rigsby scoffed and sat back. "Don't hold your breath."

"That's for certain," Van Pelt said. She looked significantly as Rigsby. "The Rumor Mill is alive and well at the CBI."

"Well, everyone knows about _you two_ because _you two_ can't keep a secret," Cho said looking back and forth between them. When they both flushed, he sighed deeply and leaned forward. Taking up his fork, he stared at his plate a moment and stirred his coleslaw. "And neither, apparently, can Boss and Jane."

He put his fork down and cussed under his breath. "So much for Jane acting as a trusty chauffeur."

Van Pelt raised her hand to her lips and laughed. The two men stared at her.

"You have to admit it's funny," she said. "I mean, we've all known for years this would happen eventually. And now that Jane has stopped obsessing about Red John...?"

She stared at Cho and then Rigsby, quirking her eyebrows leadingly.

Cho nodded and picked up his fork again as Rigsby began to laugh.

"You know, you're right, Grace. Jane can finally focus on life again. And so can Lisbon."

"So can we," Cho said. "But first she needs to get promoted, and I'm not sure how well this is going to go over with Bertram."

"It's perfect actually," Van Pelt said. "You know Jane isn't going to let her get fired over this; he's too protective. I bet he'll find some way to leverage her into the Senior Agent spot."

"About time," Rigsby said. He looked at Cho. "Then you can take over SCU."

"Well...maybe." Cho shifted in his chair which seemed covered with sharp rocks. "Let's just make certain she doesn't start her Christmas shopping this weekend by having to shop for a new job outside of CBI."

"And what about the baby?" Grace asked.

Cho examined her look of concern, recognizing how guileless she always was. He then turned his gaze to Rigsby whose mouth dropped open and glazed eyes stared blankly at Grace.

"What baby?" Cho asked.

"Her niece's baby," Rigsby whispered. "The one Jane said might be an orphan. I forgot…"

"Jane never said anything about a baby, so I wonder if it died with its parents. That's a pretty important thing not to mention. All he did say was they married on a whim on Monday and that they were enjoying a lovely honeymoon packing stuff to give to charity. And that he went to church on Sunday."

Grace burst out laughing. Wayne's mouth dropped open even further.

"Yeah, it was a joke," Cho said. Despite Jane sounding completely sincere, it had to be, right? The man could sound sincere while explaining that the sky outside was chartreus green with purple spots the whole time he'd been outside for lunch. "Also he said they would be back on either Monday or Tuesday."

"Maybe you should ask Lisbon," Grace said.

"Every time I've called Lisbon's phone, Jane answers."

"Well, at least someone is answering," Wayne said. "It's always gone to voice mail for me."

Cho looked at him thoughtfully a moment before shaking his head. "I bet he's commandeered her phone. She probably was getting a lot of sympathy calls as the word spread, so Jane took over."

Hesitantly, Van Pelt smiled but it grew stronger and she said, "That's actually kinda romantic, considering it's usually Lisbon protecting _him_. I mean, the way he took charge of things for her when she found out? It was sweet, really."

"Well…I had been thinking she's been overwhelmed with two family deaths so I've been avoiding calling her, but if she's dealing with four funerals including Annie's husband and their son, we should avoid calling her if possible. Jane will let us know if they need anything from us."

Van Pelt's brow knit a moment and then she shook her head. "Well, _maybe_ he will… What's the party line regarding rumors of Jane and Lisbon? What are we supposed to say?"

"Jane said to deny it as long as possible, just acknowledge that we heard the rumors too."

Van Pelt scoffed. "That's the problem with working with a bunch of cops. They're going to do what I was going to do; check the online records."

"And what about Bertram?" Rigsby asked.

Cho gave him a sour look. He knew that question was coming. It was the question echoing through his own mind. What _was_ the deal there? Jane said he spoke with Bertram, but he never said if Bertram knew. And Bertram didn't mention anything either, although it was odd that they had no contact with the man until _after_ Cho got the call from the reporter.

Yeah…he knew.

"We can't worry about Bertram."

"I saw that he called a couple times." Van Pelt's voice was soft with sympathy. "Has he been…okay?"

"It's fine," Cho said flatly. "Usual upper management worries about how we're handling the manpower shortage. I assured him that with Jane gone, things have been very quiet in the office." He tossed his napkin onto the table next to his plate. "And speaking of that, we'd better get back."

Disappointment flooded Rigsby's face as he looked at his half-eaten lunch. Cho rolled his eyes and picked up his napkin again.

"Okay, okay, finish your food, but we need to get going."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	52. C52 - More Revelations

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

* * *

Where would I be without my beta readers? Lost, for sure! Thank you to **_Cumberland River Relic_** whose appreciation for the lighter moments in writing keeps it all fun and worthwhile. You should check out Chapter 14 of I Remember You, where Jane goes Old School for his date with Lisbon and Chapter 12 of that same story to find Jane in Speedos. _SPEEDOS!_ *fans self and suppresses panting*! I also want to thank **_MakeMineAKiaora_** (the marvelous Chris!) who pushes me to excel and to mind my p's and q's. If you want an example of her flawless work, check out "Showtime!" and be sure to leave a review. It's a fantastic bit of writing; twenty-six drabbles to make up an entire story! DRABBLES! 100 words to tell a chapter's worth of events! It's hard work but she did it so so well!

But anyway…enough of the beta commercials. I just want to say they're wonderful.

* * *

**Chapter 52**

Teresa dawdled through lunch, delaying getting back to work, knowing that the afternoon would be as bad as the morning had been.

She hadn't found the work physically taxing. It wasn't demanding to go through dressers and closets and pack up stuff. Patrick did the hardest work, hauling the trash into the yard and the packed boxes into the garage. Daniel slept for part of it and then Patrick brought him into the other room where he was boxing up on more donations

No, the hard part was the finality of it. Yesterday she had been on the high of love and romance. The endorphin rush had raged through her body from the joy of sex and affection and because of the fulfillment of her dream to marry the man she loved. Yes, last night's lovemaking was as stupendous and invigorating as their wedding night – she had no idea how he did it so often and so well – but the afterglow in the morning was dampened this time by the photo album she made the mistake of opening. It was a recent one, half wedding snapshots (no professional photography) and the rest baby shower and Daniel's debut images; all important events she'd missed in her niece's life because work came first.

The guilt crushed her heart, and she went to the living room to talk with Patrick. He always seemed to know what she was feeling and knew the right thing to say to make her feel better. But when she saw him rocking Daniel in a cradle using one hand and operating the mouse of the computer with the other while looking back and forth between a selection of baseball cards and the monitor screen, it reminded her of a task she'd intended to do as soon as possible.

"Where did you put my phone, Patrick?"

He looked up briefly and gestured toward the dining table before returning his attention to the computer. She picked up her phone with its new battery and smiled when it fired up quickly. Had he done something else besides replace the battery? There was no end to his competencies and talents. Opening the texting app, she fired off a note to Cho who responded nearly immediately.

"Who were you writing to?" he asked after she finished her conversation.

That's when the argument had started, leaving her feeling like crap.

Teresa dropped her gaze to the sandwich on her plate, lifting the corner of the bread, staring at the fresh lettuce and delicious gourmet Swiss cheese that Patrick had put on the Krakus Polish ham he'd bought when she expressed her childhood fondness for it. It had been very thoughtful of him to buy it.

But, dammit, he was wrong to countermand her offer to Cho. He'd known immediately that he was being a jerk, but her pointing it out was only inviting the contrary position he automatically took when challenged. Okay, so she _should_ have been careful about how she worded her offer and made it clear to Cho that she'd meant after paying for shipping, but dammit, it was still her call about the cards.

Just as she picked up the sandwich, Patrick let out a sigh from across the table.

"Listen, Teresa, I said I'm sorry. I'm not even sure what came over me. I just…see the cards as valuable and couldn't… just… let it slide."

She put the sandwich back down and grimaced, waving her hand dismissively.

"Yeah, you explained. And I know I always give you hell about not discussing things with me first. I should have talked to you about it when we first realized what they were. I just couldn't think of anyone who might know anything about them. And who could we possibly trust more to deal with honesty?"

"Well, that's certainly true, but…"

"It's done."

"But…"

"Done."

"Honus Wagner."

"What?"

"Most valuable baseball card ever. It sold for $2.8 million back in 2007."

She gaped at him before looking at the boxes by the computer.

"Is there one in there?" she asked, somehow managing to speak despite the lump in her throat.

"Who knows? I only looked through about half of them so far. If there's anything of any real value in there, do you really want to give half to Cho? That's Tommy's gift to Daniel."

She frowned at him, immediately recognizing the intentional tug at her tendency toward guilt. Emotional blackmail.

"You can be a real jerk, Patrick," she muttered. "You know that?"

"Getting married to Saint Teresa in no way implied I would become Saint Patrick."

And there was that damned twinkle in his eye, the charming one that half the time stopped women from slapping him and men from punching him.

She couldn't resist it either, despite wanting to slap _and_ punch him.

"Yes, I will never think I married Saint Patrick. So…Trick… what should I do about it now?"

"Well, _Reeza_, you never said that you hadn't gone through them first. If we go through them first and make certain there's nothing of extraordinary value, Cho would be happy with getting a couple grand out of the deal."

"I don't know anything about baseball cards! How are we going to know what is valuable?"

He rolled his eyes and stood, taking his lunch plate with him to the computer. "There's this wondrous invention called the 'Internets'. I'm not a fast typist but as someone who can count cards as well as I can, I'm sure I can compare at least a hundred cards an hour. I need only search out the more expensive cards on the internet, scrolling through them to make certain you don't have any of the ones worth more than, say $50 apiece. The gentleman you called Nessy kept them in good order by player, year and brand. It should be easy enough to sort them out."

It didn't surprise her that Mr. O'Shaughnessy stored them perfectly. When she was a kid, she would marvel during visits at how neat and clean her neighbors kept their house. Looking in retrospect, she knew she grew up in a messy house because they were a large family, and her nearly feral brothers were no help in keeping things tidy.

"But St. Michael's is coming this afternoon to pick up the boxes in the garage. We still have stuff to go through and add before they get here."

"So? When they arrive, I'll watch Daniel and work on the cards while you direct them." He settled into the seat and woke up the computer. "But they're not supposed to be here until two. We can start working on –"

From the baby monitor, Daniel began to gurgle and then cry.

"Okay, slight alteration of plans. I'll start with the cards and you change our little bundle of diaper cream."

* * *

Around two o'clock, Teresa went outside to wait for the St Michael's people to arrive so she could direct them to the garage where the donations were stacked. The weather was clear and dry, and the sun flooded the south-facing porch, warming Teresa's face. The bright, crisp light banished the darkness that had depressed her soul when she looked through the photo album.

As she sat on the stoop, she studied the bare trees and the leaf-littered street. The gutter was full of fallen leaves. She felt a strange twinge as she assessed it, like it was evidence of death all around her, even though she knew the world was alive. Daniel, her new relationship with Patrick, the Special Agent in Charge position that she now felt determined to get at the CBI…these were all proof of life, vibrant evidence of a brighter future. The thought filled with an urge to clean up the signs of decay, just like she used to with the flower garden when she was growing up. It needed to be fixed. She needed to put something right.

Rising to her feet, she went to the door and rang Mrs. MacGyver's bell. The old lady answered in a few moments, surprised to see Teresa.

"Hello, Mrs. MacGyver. I'm just out here waiting for the donation truck from St. Michael's and thought I should make myself useful. Do you have a rake I can use to clean up the leaves?"

The senior must have just awoken from a nap, because it took a moment for her to process the request. Then she looked surprised and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Little Davey from next door will come by and rake on Saturday. I pay him a couple of dollars and a cup of hot chocolate. It keeps him out of trouble, his parents told me."

"Ah…" Knowing Mrs. MacGyver, "Little Davey" was probably 20 years old and just doing a favor for the old lady.

"Would you like some company as you wait?"

The hope in Mrs. M's expression was irresistible, and although Teresa wanted to be alone, she relented.

"Sure, ma'am, would you mind joining me?"

Mrs. M's face still glowed with happiness when she returned wearing a heavy down coat. It was probably a little more insulation than the fifty degree weather called for, but no doubt the frail lady got cold easily. Teresa waited until the old woman had settled on the porch seat before sitting next to her.

"So…"

"How is married life?" MacGyver asked suddenly.

"Er…" They hadn't told the landlady about their marriage. Had she watched the news too? Word was traveling fast.

"Did you get a copy of the papers that your pictures appeared in?"

_Oh, God, no… _"What pictures?"

Mrs. M rose with more spryness than a 75-year-old should possess and hurried into her apartment. She returned with two sections of the Tribune and sat down again. After shoving one in Teresa's hand, she opened the other one.

"Let's see. Yep, here it is. What a nice picture!"

Teresa took the section and gasped. It showed her and Patrick and the young woman who shot a few photos on Patrick's phone, a completely different picture than the Noon News had shown the day before. What the hell? Where were all these photos coming from? And why?

Worst of all, there was no mistaking who the couple was, the faces clear as day. In the picture Patrick never looked happier. Come to think of it, neither had she.

"Shit…" she murmured, and then covered her mouth for swearing in front of the old woman. Mrs. MacGyver didn't react.

Bertram must be having a conniption fit. The Chicago Tribune, for God's sake! That newspaper was distributed around the entire world!

"This really surprised me," Mrs. MacGyver said. "I knew you two had gotten closer since you arrived, but marriage? Surely you hadn't planned on that."

"Oh, no! Absolutely not! It just…kinda happened."

Mrs. MacGyver got a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No!"

"Well…with a scoundrel like Patrick, I wouldn't be surprised if you were. He seems to be the type to have seen the space between the sheets quite often, led there by his manparts."

_Well, that just proves Mrs. MacGyver's inability to judge men_, Teresa thought. Patrick Jane wasn't a womanizer by any stretch of the imagination. Yes, he seemed to be thinking an awful lot with his penis lately, _his "manparts_", especially whenever she got into the vicinity of a mattress or a sofa cushion that he was near. But he hadn't been a player during his marriage to Angela Ruskin. Maybe _before,_ but during? No way.

The old woman chuckled, disrupting Teresa's speculation. "Not that I'd have anything to say about it if you were pregnant. Things are different in this day and age. Frankly I was surprised when Annabeth and Jared got married. She got pregnant, you know."

Teresa did know. Or rather she had done the math and figured it out for herself when Annie had made the announcement that they were pregnant. The fact that Annie hadn't fallen apart as a blubbering mess and called Aunt Reesie in the middle of the night filled Teresa with pride about the young woman's strength. She knew that Annie and Jared had been serious about each other already but that Annie's career path was important to her and the pregnancy hadn't been planned. The only thing that surprised Aunt Reesie was the suddenness of the announcement and the lack of details from both Annie and Tommy about the decision making process surrounding it. At least Teresa was reassured when later Tommy had sincerely expressed appreciation for his son-in-law. Tommy's bad record resulting from 'having to marry' would not be his daughter's record. Jared had been welcomed by his wife's family unlike Tommy who was not welcomed into Annie's mother's family.

But a busybody like Mrs. M might know more than what either Tommy or Annie ever let on.

"Do you feel Annie and Jared weren't in love?"

"Oh, they were very much in love, but it seems like nowadays it's just so easy to walk away. Jared was a wonderful young man. I think he was sorta hoping it would happen, as much as he loved Annabeth, perhaps thinking it would force a change in their relationship. He had asked a couple times but she felt she was too young and had her career in front of her."

Teresa looked askance at her. "She told you this?"

"Well…not in so many words. She did tell me in confidence that he'd asked once but she turned him down. She mentioned it because I asked what they'd been fighting about. I could hear them through the ceiling. The floor is very thin, you know, and they were a very passionate couple."

Pursing her lips, Teresa looked away. There was no doubt Lily MacGyver heard the fight as well as …_other_… things but probably because she was listening up the back staircase. The woman was a busybody, after all. Good thing Teresa managed to suppress some of her more noisy expressions of passion for the sake of the baby, or the old woman would really get an earful!

Or maybe she had? Was that what prompted her randy comments about Patrick?

"Was Jared living here before they got married?"

"Oh, no, of course not, although I know he was visiting when your brother was out of town for what Tommy called bounty runs. He was not happy when I told him that Jared was staying over. I could hear Tommy and Annabeth yelling for the better part of an hour." The old gossip started to giggle. "I think the biggest point of contention was that Annabeth had used Tommy's 'protection' which apparently was very old. Looks like he'd been right."

_Oh God…no! _Teresa swallowed hard. _No, no, no, no, no…!_

* * *

Returning from lunch, Grace Van Pelt followed the boys into the nearly empty bullpen and nodded to Ron from SCU and Topher Maddox from Narcotics who sat at Ron's desk. They were talking football because hey, it was Thanksgiving after all. She understood they'd waved her over because they loved the fact that she knew the game as well - if not better - than they did. She begged off, however, telling them she wanted to clear off her desk before the holiday.

Really, she had research to do, mainly finding out whatever happened to the baby. She pulled up the Cook County death records. After entering the name "Lisbon" and date of death of Wednesday, November 20, she sat back and awaited results.

_No results for requested search._

"What?" she asked aloud.

"What 'what'?" Rigsby asked.

Cho looked up from where he'd settled at his desk, scowling once again at the red flashing light on his phone. She guessed it was probably more messages from Bertram. "Van Pelt…"

"I'm not looking for that," she said, knowing he was talking about looking up the marriage certificate.

"Good," he said. "Let's all just clear off our desks and go home. We'll be back here soon enough on Saturday."

Grace nodded and returned to the paperwork she'd been closing up before she got the Google alert about Boss and Jane. Somehow she managed to concentrate on it while at the same time keeping an eye on the 'boys', waiting for them to leave. Ron and Topher were obvious when they departed, since they both wished her, Rigs and Cho a happy Thanksgiving holiday as they headed for the elevators.

Then she waited some more. As agreed upon with Wayne, she and he would never leave together, careful not to raise suspicion by ever leaving at the same time unless other people were also departing. Earlier today, they'd arranged to meet for dinner at the Gator Swamp Zydeco Bar across town where they were certain they wouldn't run into anyone they knew. It had good food, anyway, and the portions were big enough even for Wayne.

And speaking of Wayne, he stood up and looked around before donning his jacket. He gave her a wink.

"Well, I think it's that time. Don't you, Cho?"

Cho twirled his pen around his finger and then looked up from the docket on his desk. "Yeah, I suppose so. Van Pelt?"

"Just finishing up. I'll be along in a minute. You guys go ahead."

Closing the file and rising to his feet, Cho also put on his suit coat. "I know you're as badass as Lisbon, but are you sure you don't want us to walk you to your car? The garage is pretty deserted at the moment."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, Kimball. I'll be fine."

He nodded and brought his wallet, badge and gun out of the drawer, attaching and tucking them into appropriate places.

"Okay, then. Good night, Grace."

"Good night."

She worked on the last of her case forms until she heard the elevator ding and their voices get cut off by the closed doors.

She tucked her work forms away and reopened her governmental search engine, expanding the parameters to include all fatal automotive accidents in Region 1 of the Illinois State Patrol on Wednesday, November 20th. The solution was simple; they hadn't died in Cook County, but in another one nearby. There! Four deaths in Lake County that day, all reported by the same trooper. On the relatively short list was Thomas Seamus Lisbon, aged 36, of Chicago. The other names of people from Chicago were Howard Kennedy, 71, who struck a car head on, and two young people, Annabeth Teresa Vogelstein and Jared Dantrell Vogelstein, aged 19 and 21 respectively. The reports cross-referenced each other with no report missing.

No baby. She expanded the search parameters for the entire state of Illinois for the death of a child. In July Red John was the reason Lisbon hadn't gone to Chicago for the birth of the baby, and the rotten bastard had been dead four months, so Grace added an age range of three to six months. Still no reported fatalities.

This was vexing. Was the baby still alive? Maybe she needed a full name, so she entered the last name 'Vogelstein' and approximate age and searched all Illinois state records. The screen went blank a moment and then displayed three links: a birth record for Daniel Thomas Vogelstein on the same day in July that Red John was finally taken down, a Vogelstein boy entering the DCFS system the Friday and then on Monday…

"Oh. My. God."

She covered her mouth with her hand, re-reading the guardianship record. Why hadn't Jane said something? Why hadn't Lisbon? Holy crap! What the hell was going on?

Then she realized she was breathing hard. She had to pull herself together.

There had to be a logical reason that neither Boss nor Jane had told anyone, and if that was what they wanted, she wouldn't - _couldn't_-share it with anyone. Not even Wayne.

_Oh my God…I'm going to be an aunt!_

She couldn't wait!

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_**To be continued**_


	53. C53 - Assurances

Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

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Thank you to both Cumberland River Relic and MakeMineAKiaora for your beta reading and your feedback. Truly valuable assistance!

Also thank you to JaneDoe51 for pointing out that Miss Grace VanPelt would have nooooo problem finding out what happened to the child. It was a point I hadn't even considered. Adding it really enriched the chapter, so thank you, M-O!

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**Chapter 53**

Teresa felt like shit. Helping the St Michael's volunteers load the donations in the truck went a long way to alleviating her anxiety, but she still couldn't get rid of the flutter in her stomach.

_No way, no way, no way…_

She climbed the back stairs and as she was about to enter realized that the worst thing she could do was face the all-seeing Patrick Jane. Her worry would be written all over her face and he'd read it like it was written in a hundred-point neon-pink font.

There were some downsides to being married to a mentalist after all.

Teresa looked around for a seat, but the porch furniture had just been taken away by the truck. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the steps leading to the attic and leaned against the inside handrail.

Annie and Jared had been a young, energetic couple, full of love and lust. There couldn't possibly be any condoms left from whatever Tommy had lying around because they would have gone through them. Besides, if they were the reason Annie got pregnant, the two of them would have been much too smart to keep using bad condoms.

Although if that one Patrick used with her was newly purchased by the two youngsters, Annie was still guilty of poor judgment for buying cheap prophylactics to begin with.

She growled softly to herself and buried her face in her hands.

Patrick Jane is a certifiable genius and she wasn't an idiot, yet still they used it. What the hell was _her_ problem for trying to blame a dead girl? If Patrick had gotten her pregnant, she was as 'guilty' of poor judgment as Annie and Jared may have been using Tommy's expired condoms that probably got Annie pregnant in the first place.

_Blame. Stop blaming!_

Cop instinct. Trying to find the guilty party for a crime. Except that the birth of Daniel wasn't a crime. He was a beautiful boy who added so much to her own life. He was the child directly responsible for her and Patrick stepping past the fears that had prevented them from facing their affection for one another.

And if their affection had _created_ a life? Well…Teresa had to accept the fact.

But, God, she hoped they hadn't. Now was not a good time for yet another life-changing event. Lord knew, it would definitely break her.

"Reeza? What's wrong?"

She lifted her head, feeling her face grow cold and the lump form in her throat. The pain of his empathy in his expression and the thoughts that had been filling her now overwhelmed her with guilt. It was a struggle to stop any tears from escaping, especially when Patrick came through the door – he pushed it wide open – and sat next to her, placing a gentle hand on her back.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He left the door open to hear. He never forgot the baby. Her immature, irreverent, wholly irresponsible man was mature, reverent and completely responsible.

But she wouldn't be so irresponsible as to allow cold air to get in and give the boy a chill. Besides, there was no doubt, Mrs. M's gossip radar would turn on and she'd tune in to anything Teresa had to say. Standing abruptly, she crossed to the door.

"No," she said. "Let's get back to work."

He followed her into the apartment and then Tommy's room which was nearly empty.

"What needs to be done in here?" she asked.

Silence. She looked up to find him standing before the door with his arms crossed.

"What needs doing? You need to get whatever has built up inside you off your chest, that's what needs doing."

Unfortunate phrasing. Built up inside. Well, it wasn't going to come from her chest if it built up anyway.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. What the hell…bluffing worked in poker.

"Please. You think I can't tell when you're upset?"

"Even if I were, why should I tell you? You don't tell me when you're upset."

"I tell you every time I'm upset with you."

"What? I can't remember the last time you told me you're upset."

"Well…it's not my fault that I don't get upset with you, is it?"

She stared at him, her mouth dropped open. How had this turned into a discussion about him?

Then, damn it, came that charming smile when he knew he had her. He held his arms out for a hug. Cheeky bastard.

"Jane, I'm not upset with you, all right?"

His eyebrows shot up and the offer to hug disappeared when his arms returned to his side. The smile vanished too.

She'd called him 'Jane'. How stupid could she be? God, life was so frustrating!

Time to change the subject. Heaving a deep sigh, she turned toward the closet and pulled out a box. "Where's the rest of the money?"

"What money?"

"The rest of the Joliet river boat money. You hinted that there was more than what you'd stashed in the kitchen for me to find. I'm kinda tired of the hide and seek."

He made a strangled squeaking noise and she looked at his face. He stared wide-eyed in the direction of the garage with an expression of panic. Realization dawned on her; it had gone with the donations.

"No, no, no…" she groaned, starting to brush past him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, laughing joyfully.

"I'm kidding, my dear," he said, bringing her into his embrace. "Trying to lighten your mood."

"By scaring the crap out of me?"

"That's my cranky Lisbon. Fierce and impatient."

"Patrick Jane, you sonnuva bitch…" She tried to pull away.

He only held tighter and began to rock with her. In time with his movement, he began to hum and then sing softly. "When I go to sleep at night, you're always a part of my dreams…"

"When do you ever sleep?" she demanded. "It seems like you're always awake trying to stick your manparts in me."

He burst out laughing and finally released his embrace, holding her at arm's length. "Manparts, Lisbon?"

She met his eye, feeling chagrined. "You know, I think I prefer 'Reeza'."

"Good, because I prefer you call me Patrick or even 'Trick'. Save Jane for when you're yelling at me at work."

The smirk on her lips came unbidden and then she laughed.

"Okay, Trick. I have more practice with that than Patrick so I may slip up once in a while."

"I'll try not to piss you off to that degree at home."

Home. Yes, they hadn't discussed that, had they? They hadn't really discussed anything about how and where they'd turn domestic. With the prospect that truly domestic was more and more likely, maybe they needed to. As she thought about how to open the topic, he spoke first.

"And regarding the money, there isn't that much more of it – two bunches, one in here." He gestured toward the closet. "And one in the linen closet."

She rolled her eyes and collapsed her shoulders. "I totally forgot to pack up the linen closet," she said.

"Well, it's not very big," he said. "And it wouldn't be a bad idea to use some of the towels to help pack the delicate stuff you want to bring back to Sacramento."

"Yes,…Sacramento. What are we going to do when we go home? Are you going to move in with me or…what?"

That damned twinkle again! His eyes positively glistened with his amusement. What had she missed?

"Well… I really don't believe there's enough room in the Aerie to move you and Daniel in there, unless you want to sleep in your office and just store your stuff along the wall. And we can put some boxes in your car and maybe in my trunk…"

Again she rolled her eyes and brought another carton from the closet, placing it in front of Tommy's twin mattress leaned against the wall. The bed, the nightstand and the dresser had been donated.

"If you weren't so much the rolling stone, the question wouldn't seem so silly."

Patrick held his hand up to his mouth like it held a microphone. "Papa was a rollin' stone," he sang, moving his body like a soul singer. "Wherever he lay his hat was his home. And when he diiiied, all that left us was aloooone!" Then he straightened up and grinned at her.

She sighed and jammed her fists into her hips.

"I'm serious. Anyplace you plant your ass tends to be where you're comfortable."

"Weelll, the phrase implies unwillingness, even inability to accept responsibility, but we both know that's not strictly applicable."

_Is that why I'm feeling so irritated with him? Because he's always been so free and unattached? Happy to stay until he's happy to leave?_

She stared at him and moved her hands to her stomach. His gaze darted toward the movement so she dropped her hands away. His soulful eyes turned to meet hers.

"I didn't expect to live, Teresa," he said softly. "I thought that I'd kill Red John and then go to prison or that I'd die in pursuit of him. I was determined not to do…this…" He gestured at what remained of Tommy's belongings. "…to anyone I left behind."

Then he moved to the closet and pulled down a shoe box from the top shelf, holding it toward her.

"I can't offer you things, my dear," he continued, "but I will always make certain you and the baby want for nothing."

With a trembling hand, she opened the box. It was full of bundles of money.

"How…how…?"

"How much is that? Should be sixty grand. There's another thirty in the linen closet. Middle shelf in a box under the three curling irons."

She fumbled the box of money in her surprise. He helped her catch it.

"A hundred and t-t-twenty thousand dollars?"

"Well…yeah. I had to win enough to leave plenty after taxes to make it worthwhile. It'll be about sixty grand, but that will go a long way toward keeping Daniel in quality diapers." He turned toward the door. "I'll go get the rest of it."

She swallowed hard, staring wide-eyed at the bundles of hundreds.

"Oh, and Teresa?"

Looking up, she found him leaned in the doorway from the hall. A kindly smile filled his face.

"I don't think you're pregnant. We're both very smart and we've been careful. But whether you are or you aren't, I'm committed to you for the rest of my life, even if you tell me to be otherwise."

The smile faded a little toward sadness, forming a thin line as he glanced at her abdomen. He then gave a slight nod and left.

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**_To be continued…_**


End file.
